


The Good Girl Chronicles

by LumosLyra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alastor Moody Braids Hair, Alastor is Just a Tease, Alcohol, Amortentia, Anal Sex, And Probably Fluffy, Angst, Arthur Weasley is Smitten, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Caning, Daddy Kink, Daddy!Arthur, Dirty Talk, Divergent Timelines, Dom!Alastor, F/M, Face-Sitting, Feelings, Fluff, Going to Hell, Good Girls Ask for What They Want, Gryffindors are Very Blunt, Hermione Granger has an Existential Crisis, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I Want Arthur Weasley to Feed me Fruit, Idiots in Love, If You Squint - Freeform, Imbolc, It's Gonna Be Dirty, It's Probably Borderline Crack Too, Light Dom/sub, Like Super Smutty, M/M, Morning Sex, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Nightmares, Non-Linear Narrative, Not even mad, Oral Sex, Panty Kink, Pet Names, Picnics, Post-Coital Cuddling, Praise Kink, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Quidditch, Quidditch Injuries, Ritual Magic, Semi-Public Sex, Snogging, Snowball Fight, Spells & Enchantments, Spitroasting, Subspace, Time Travel, Tinkering, Triad - Freeform, Why Did I Write This?, sub!hermione, there might be plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:40:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23901709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumosLyra/pseuds/LumosLyra
Summary: Hermione knows that if she ever ends up back in her own time, she will never be able to look Arthur Weasley or Alastor Moody in the eye ever again after spending her 7th year (and maybe more!) with them.This series of interconnected (mostly non-linear) one-shots is set during the 1967-1968 school year wherein our favorite triad explores a myriad of kinks, develops feelings, and struggles over whether or not Hermione should return to her own time if her time-turner is ever repaired.
Relationships: Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody/Arthur Weasley, Hermione Granger/Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, Hermione Granger/Arthur Weasley, Hermione Granger/Arthur Weasley/Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody
Comments: 295
Kudos: 639
Collections: AboutTime, Good Girl Hermione





	1. Relax Your Throat

**Author's Note:**

> So. This started as a prompt from The Restricted Section (Multi + Triads Only) as part of our Talk Tuesday thing. Stupid me decided to ask the question "If X was in a relationship with two men, who would she call Daddy and who would she call Sir?" 
> 
> And well, here we are. 
> 
> The chapters here are mostly non-linear but it does pick up a bit of plot here and there. This particular story is marked "complete" because it is a collection of interconnected one-shots. I will continue to update as new ideas strike me, so if you'd like to follow along, please feel free to subscribe!
> 
> It's unbeta'd and there are probably errors.

Fuck. 

She shouldn’t be here. 

This was all a giant mistake and what if time was linear and not cyclical? Her entire presence in the past right now could completely screw up the future. She’d already been here for months with no conceivable way home, sorted back into Gryffindor and nearly immediately set upon by two men she held great respect for in the future.

They’d approached her like a pair of hungry wolves and while she might have expected it from the tall, broad-shouldered, semi-paranoid wizard with aspirations to be an Auror, she never expected it from the tall and lean, sweet, ginger-haired wizard who was a bit too obsessed with muggle gadgets. 

But goodness gracious, her knickers were soaked every time Alastor and Arthur opened their mouths. And it wasn’t just that their voices were so deep or low that they induced a fresh wave of slick to trickle from her cunt. Oh no. It was the criminal amount of filthy things they said to her when they managed to get her alone. It wouldn’t have been nearly as effective were it only one of them at a time - that, she might have been able to resist. But the two of them together? Hermione was powerless. 

It was why she was on her knees in an abandoned classroom with Alastor’s cock buried down her throat and Arthur gently stroking her curls and cooing in her ear about how good she was. 

“That’s it love, relax your throat. Be a good girl for Al,” Arthur crooned, one long-fingered hand settled against her throat and the other rolling one of her nipples between his fingers. With her back to his chest, Hermione could feel his throbbing erection as it pressed against her arse. 

It was easy to see how Molly had seven children if Arthur was like this. Gods, she was going to hell for fucking her future boyfriend’s father if she ever made it back to the present and could actually look Arthur in the eye, no less Alastor. How could she ever be in the grizzled Auror’s presence knowing exactly how each ridge of his cock felt as it slid against her tongue? Not to mention how she had nearly memorized the prints of Arthur’s fingers as they pressed hungrily into her skin.

Her throat finally relaxed and Alastor slid home, cutting off her air supply with a satisfied groan. Thick fingers fisted her curls and held her in place. “Fuck, witch,” he moaned, rotating his hips as she gagged around him. Behind her, Arthur rubbed soft circles along the column of her throat as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of her knickers. Fingers found her clit and she moaned, low and needy. 

Gods, she really was every dirty name she let Alastor call her in private. 

Hermione gasped for air when Alastor finally pulled back. She would’ve fallen forward were it not for Arthur’s strong grip on her waist. 

“What do you say to Al, sweetheart?” Arthur licked a trail along the column of her throat to press a sweet, yet horribly suggestive kiss against her cheek. 

“Thank you, Sir,” she muttered quietly, a dark blush staining her cheeks as that last word slipped off of her tongue.

“So pretty,” Arthur cooed, brushing her reddened cheek with his hand. “Take your knickers off for Daddy.” 

Hermione whimpered, her entire body flushing as she removed her knickers with trembling hands as Arthur helped her stay balanced. They were soaked through but she handed them over, placing them in Alastor’s hand. The grin that spread across his lips was nearly feral as he pressed the wet gusset to his nose and inhaled. 

Hermione thought she might die of mortification but all thoughts were driven from her brain when Arthur parted her folds and sheathed himself with her. He met no resistance and the squelching noises coming from her cunt bordered on obscene as he rocked within her. 

“Open up, dirty girl,” Alastor commanded, thick fingers fisting his cock as he tucked her knickers into his pocket. The grin on his mouth grew wider as he dragged the head of his cock along her cheek, smearing it with tiny droplets of pre-cum before slipping back her lips once more. 

Between the way Arthur was whispering praises in her ear while he fucked her mercilessly and Alastor’s cock stealing her breath once more, Hermione was near incoherent. Never had she imagined that sex could be anything like this, but these two brought out something wild from within her and she would say, “Yes, Sir!” and “Thank you, Daddy!” if it meant they would fuck her like this. 

The sun was starting to set and Hermione had no idea how long they’d been laying in a tangled heap. She was tucked against Alastor’s chest with unknown amount of their combined fluids coating her thighs and her cheeks, as Arthur and Alastor shared lazy kisses above her head. 

“You can’t go back, Princess,” Arthur whispered against the shell of her ear.

Hermione sighed, they’d had this conversation a dozen times over the last month. “You’re meant for someone else, Daddy.” The word rolled off of her tongue in her sleepy haze. It was a wonder she hadn’t slipped and accidentally called him that during one of their shared classes, or worse, in front of Molly. Sweet, bubbly Molly whom she knew would be a wonderful wife for him.

“No, my girl,” Alastor said, crooking a finger beneath her chin to force her gaze to his. “We’re yours and you’re ours, simple as that. None of this going back to the future talk.” 

Hermione nodded, knowing they were just pretty words. She’d have to go back at some point, right? She couldn’t stay here in the past, have her cake and eat it too? This was temporary and when she made it back to her own time, she’d have to face these two men, much older than she and desperately try not to blush when she saw them again. 

She settled her head back on Alastor’s chest as Arthur curled his body around her from behind, arm draped over the two of them. 

“Yes, Sir.” 


	2. Back in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione travels back in time and meets Arthur Weasley and Madam Pomfrey.

This was bad. 

One minute she was standing in the Great Hall checking to see that the Time-Turner she was using for an extra-curricular Ministry approved research project was aligned correctly to only send her back one hour and the next someone bumped into her from behind and the dial slipped and everything sped around her until eventually, she blacked out. 

Waking up in the hospital wing with to a decidedly  _ much younger _ Madam Pomfrey tending to a few burns she had sustained from her rapid travel through time had been a complete shock. What she absolutely was not,  _ was not _ prepared for was the handsome ginger standing vigil next to her bed who looked like a perfect combination of Charlie and Percy Weasley. He had all of the rugged and boyish charm of the second eldest Weasley son but he was clean-cut and neatly dressed like the one who thought entirely too much about the thickness of cauldron bottoms. 

Goodness, he was pretty. 

Merlin. How far back had she gone?

“Oh! You’re awake,” the probably thirty-something-year-old Madam Pomfrey said as she bustled about Hermione’s bed, fashionable Healer’s robes swishing about her calves. “Good riddance, too. Appearing in the middle of the Great Hall like that. Had it not been for Mr. Weasley here, you might have been in there for a few more hours, yet; what with the Quidditch game going on and all.” 

The burns on her arms stung as the young Healer applied a poultice to the seared flesh and Hermione winced. “It was unplanned, I assure you.” 

“Time-travel is rarely planned, dear. You’d be amazed at how many persons have simply popped into existence throughout history. Would you care to tell us when you’re from?” 

She eyed the ginger-haired boy near her bed whose eyes were fixed on her with a stare that made her mouth go dry. When had a Weasley ever looked at her like that? Certainly, none of them that she knew. Sweet Circe, if he kept staring at her like that she’d let him do dirty, dirty things to her. 

“1998.” 

“Ah. Well. I’m afraid you’ve made rather a leap back in time, my dear,” Madam Pomfrey said, patting Hermione gently on the shoulder. 

Bright brown eyes grew wide, “I was only meant to travel back one hour.” 

“It’s 1967,” said the Weasley boy, the tenor of his voice sounding oddly familiar. It was lyrical and kind but there was an undertone to it that made her want to beg for him to read her favorite novel aloud. 

“31 years…” Hermione felt a ball of panic grapple up her esophagus like a squirrel climbing a tree. “I might be sick.” 

A bedpan was quickly handed to her, but she managed to stay her stomach from expelling its contents. 

“When you’re feeling a bit better and some of the shock has worn off--” A vial of calming draught was pressed into her hand, “Arthur here can escort you to the Headmaster’s Office and we can get you sorted.” 

No. 

No, no. 

The young man who’d been staring at her as if he wanted to devour her whole was practically her surrogate father. The man to whom she’d had to explain the inner workings of numerous muggle gadgets and customs. Ron’s father. Molly’s husband. 

Someone she should absolutely  _ not _ find attractive. 

But, Merlin help her if she didn’t want to get lost in those blue eyes for days on end. 

She took his hand when he offered it, a charming smile crossing his plump, all too kissable lips. “Arthur Weasley.” 

What was wrong with her? 

His hand was warm and she knew she was blushing, but she just couldn’t stop the warmth that flooded through her body at the ridiculously innocent touch. She should probably lie. Give some kind of false name, but her mind went utterly blank and her given name just rolled off of her lips. “Hermione Granger.” 

She was fucked. 

  
  



	3. Snogging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione accidentally catches Alastor and Arthur snogging... and doesn't walk away.

She hadn’t meant to walk in on them. 

  
Really, it was a complete accident. One that she’d never admit was fortunate. Nope, not in a million years would she ever say she was grateful for the day she managed to catch Arthur Weasley and Alastor Moody snogging in an alcove on the fifth floor. 

Definitely not. 

They weren’t even phased when they realized she’d pressed herself against a wall because literally, she was sort of trapped in this hallway now-- thanks, but no thanks, moving staircases. They sort of chuckled and grinned at her in some ridiculous way that absolutely  _ should not _ have made her knickers wet and went right back to pawing at each other. 

If she’d been a prefect, there would have been points docked and they would have been sent on their way, but she was definitely not one of those in this time and so she just watched them idly, waiting for the staircases to change again. 

She’d never found either man very attractive in her time, but it wasn’t like she’d been fully paying attention. Alastor had sustained so many injuries by the time she’d known him and Arthur was her friend’s goofy dad for Merlin’s sake… but young, and in their prime? She honestly wouldn’t have minded being in the middle of that man-sandwich. 

What was wrong with her? 

She’d never had these kinds of thoughts--okay, well, not very often anyway, before she managed to get herself stranded some 30 something years in the past. Maybe it was the fact that, even though she was in the past, she actually had a chance at a normal school year and that, in and of itself, made her feel like she wanted to take a few risks and have a little fun. 

She’d ridden on the back of a dragon, for Merlin’s sake… she could handle watching two of her classmates snog without being affected by it. 

Couldn’t she?

No. Evidently not. 

Somewhere between sneaking glances at them while waiting for the staircases to change, she’d been pressed into a corner and Alastor was very, very close. Why did he have to smell so good? And how on earth was he so tall? She was starting to get a good idea of why so many people found him intoxicating. 

Intimidating. 

Shit. 

His eyes were dark and they were trained on her like she was a piece of Honeyduke’s finest and was a man who hadn’t ever eaten sugar. Arthur was just leaning back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and watching her squirm under Moody’s gaze with an amused smile. 

“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing.” 

“Oh, um,” Hermione’s eyes flicked from his face to his chest and back up again, “Yes, hello.” 

Moody just grinned and took another step closer. “Arthur tells me you’re not from our time?” 

Was his voice so deep where she came from? “Well, um, no. I’m from a few years into the future and Dumbledore is working very hard to get me sent back to my own time. I don’t want to accidentally change anything, you see.” 

His head cocked to the side and he tugged gently on one of her curls. “Well, while you’re here, there’s plenty of little hidden alcoves like these. If you’re interested, that is.” 

Was Alastor Moody really propositioning her for sex looking thoroughly snogged while his probable boyfriend sat back and watched him do it? When she managed to tear her eyes away from Moody to actually look at Arthur, he looked horribly calm about the whole thing. “But what about…”

Arthur chose that moment to push off of the wall, and Hermione found herself pressed even further against the corner because now, she was crowded by not just one, but two good-looking wizards. She really needed her brain to continue to function but in her entire life, no wizard had ever affected her like this. It almost made sense now how Lavender seemed to be struck stupid by boys at times because if this is what she experienced, it totally made sense. She should really probably apologize to the blonde witch when she made it back to her time. 

“My idea, really,” Arthur said. It probably looked like some nervous shifting on her part but the way his blue-eyed gaze had leveled on her such intensity, she was really pressing her thighs together to get some sort of relief. 

“So, you want to have sex,” she said, amber eyes flicking back and forth between the pair of them in a way that probably made her look like an absolutely nervous wreck. “With me?” 

They exchanged a glance. “Yes.” 

Oh, this was bad. She could really use the tension relief because being stuck in the past and having to pretend she was someone she wasn’t was exhausting. But she knew them! And if she ever made it back to her own time she knew with absolute certainty she would never be able to look either of them in the eye ever again. 

“But… what if I know you, in the future? Isn’t that…” Hermione blew out a breath and squared her shoulders, looking between the two of them before she crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t you find that odd?”

Alastor’s eyebrows shot upwards before immediately narrowing and she could see hints of the man he could become. “Do you?”

Tentatively, Hermione reached out and brushed her hand over his brow, above the eye that would later be replaced by the bright blue orb she was so familiar with. “You’re missing this, in my time.”

She could see from the way emotion swirled on his boyish features that he was desperate to know his fate. He wasn’t nearly as practiced at keeping his emotions in check as he was in her time. His gaze darted around a bit and she almost tapped his nose in a bid to tease him about keeping constant vigilance since she was able to come across them so easily. It would be way too easy to tease them both with everything she knew. 

“And.. and me?” Arthur said, one of his hands tugging at the collar of his shirt.

“You have an entire quidditch team of children and are very happily married.”

Arthur looked simultaneously elated and terrified. “Do I really?” 

Alastor laughed, big heaving sounds that made his chest shake and a bright smile spread across his lips before his eyes turned dark and he took another step towards Hermione, one large hand settling on her waist. Hermione’s chest expanded with the force of her inhale and shuttered when she released the breath, the warmth of his hand bleeding through the fabric of her jumper. He leaned close, lips just brushing the helix of her ear, “Call him Daddy, precious. See what happens when you tell him you want him.” 

Evidently, Alastor was not perturbed by the fact that she knew them in the future and this was really happening. 

The baritone of his voice rumbled like thunder, sending shockwaves of  _ want _ coursing through her. She should  _ not _ be turned on by this, being told what to do and especially calling someone by  _ that _ name. Still, she was immensely curious to know exactly what it would do to him. 

Her eyes were trained on Arthur as Alastor ran his tongue over the curve of her neck which somehow ended up tilted at just the right angle to let him nibble at her pulse point. Surely he’d moved her and she hadn’t just presented it to him like some feral cat in heat. Hermione honestly couldn’t be sure, but she knew she didn’t want him to stop doing exactly what he was doing. 

Arthur was staring at them, his bright blue eyes obscured by blown pupils. One of Hermione’s arms curved around Moody’s back while she reached the other one out towards Arthur, her fingers curling as if to beckon him over, to take that final step to--

“Join us, Daddy,” she cooed softly in a voice that was thick and heavy with  _ need _ . It struck her that she wanted this, wanted them and perhaps, that was why instead of turning her back to wait for the staircase, she kept her eyes on them while they snogged until their orbit pulled her in. 

Arthur grasped her smaller hand in his own and took a confident step towards where she was pressed against the wall. Alastor laved open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat as his hands tugged her shirt from her skirt while Arthur took the hand he was holding as well as the one she had wrapped around Alastor and pinned them both to the wall above her head. The kiss he pressed to her mouth was full of a dark passion she’d never thought he’d be capable of as he nipped and licked at her lips between needy kisses. 

“Say it again,” Arthur commanded softly, transferring her wrists to one hand to trace the tips of his fingers along her jaw with the other. 

“Daddy,” she breathed, heart pounding in her chest as Alastor’s rough hands slipped beneath her shirt. 

“Good girl,” Alastor crooned against her ear. 

She was going to hell.  


And she couldn't even be sorry about it. 


	4. Give Me Your Knickers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastor steals Hermione's knickers during a Quidditch game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be more plot in this than I originally thought because apparently, I can't just write dirty smut. We're going to blame my obsession with fluff and feelings.

“Give me your knickers.” 

It was almost like she was moving in slow motion as she turned her head, eyebrows lifted as she stared at the tree of a man at her side. Really, she did not remember Alastor being quite so tall when she’d last seen him when they’d moved Harry just before they went on the run, but there he stood in all of his broad-shouldered, stupidly handsome glory. “Excuse me?” 

“That’s five, and you heard me.” 

Hermione tucked herself into Alastor’s side, fiddling with the weave of her scarf. “We’re at a Quidditch Match,  _ Sir.”  _

Leaning over, Alastor brushed his face against Hermione’s curls, lips settling near her ear. “I don’t give a fuck, precious. Do as you’re told.” 

She knew he heard the whimper but the sound it was drowned out by the erupting cheers of their fellow classmates as one of the Gryffindor Chasers scoring against Hufflepuff. Infinitely thankful for wizarding fashion, Hermione tucked her arms inside of her cloak and raised her skirt just enough so she could slip the simple cotton garment down her legs. She sat down on the cold wooden bleachers and pretended to rifle through her satchel while Alastor’s hand ghosted over her back. 

Carefully wadding her knickers into her fist and hiding both beneath a book she pulled out from her bag, she passed them to Alastor who instantly tucked the garment into the pocket of his trousers. 

It wouldn’t be too much longer and she would be out of knickers altogether. Alastor had made it a habit lately to see exactly how many pairs he could confiscate and this was the second time this week. He’d nicked the first pair when they’d been in the library studying with Arthur back in one of the more secluded alcoves. Hermione had to bite down on her scarf so as not to give away the fact that Arthur was lazily tonguing her cunt below the table while Alistor quizzed her on the effects of shrivelfig preparations in potion-making.

She earned her O for Outstanding during that study session. 

Alastor wrapped one arm around Hermione’s shoulders, his other hand tucked deep into his pocket. Warm breath brushed her curls away from her ear as he whispered, “Good girl. Always so wet, aren’t you?” 

She heard his words but her eyes were trained on Arthur as he dove for a bludger and all she could do was nod. 

“You’re up to ten.” Alastor grinned against her ear, pressing a quick kiss to the space behind it, “I’ll bet it’s the sight of him all kitted up out there in his Quidditch gear that’s got you soaking through your knickers, isn’t it, precious?”

It was no use lying to him. She’d quickly learned that Alastor Moody was a ridiculously perceptive man, so she might as well admit that the sight of Arthur in his Quidditch leathers was an absolutely part of the reason she’d just handed him a pair of damp knickers. “Yes, Sir.” 

“And?”

Hermione huffed a little breath and narrowed her eyes, “If you’re trying to get me to say that I want to ride his broomstick, you’ve done and lost your own bet,  _ Sir. _ ” 

They’d been trying for ages now to convince her to let them take her flying, but she’d solidly refused each and every time. The last time she’d been on a broom was when she was being chased by fiendfyre during the Battle of Hogwarts and she had absolutely no desire to possibly trigger those memories to return. But, their silly bet continued and no one had even told her what the prize was. 

She expected it was something to do with her. Their little bets always seemed to use her as the prize in some form or fashion, not that she truly minded. 

When Arthur managed to put Alastor on his back during a duel in Duelling Club, Hermione had found herself lazily pleasuring his cock with her mouth for the better part of an hour while he fed her random bits of fruit from his hand. 

When Alastor won Gryffindor more house points than Arthur during one particularly hellish week in the fall when nearly all of their professors came down with a mild case of pixie flu and were actively taking more points than they gave, Hermione found herself bound to a tree at the edge of the Forbidden Forest while Alastor reddened her bottom with a recently cut switch and then brought her off at least three times. 

So, there was no telling what exactly would happen if one of their won this silly flying bet. She’d probably end up being pleasured with the handle of a broom or fucking one or both of them in the broom shed or locker room showers. 

“We’ll get up in the air one of these days, Hermione. You can’t be afraid of forever.” 

She turned and looked at him as though he’d grown three heads. “I’ve not once ever said I was afraid of flying.” 

Alastor dropped a sweet kiss on the top of her curls. “Fifteen, precious. You won’t be able to sit down tomorrow if you keep forgetting.”

Hermione bit her lip to keep herself from growling at him. 

“And you’ve a look about you. It’s better to face your fears that keep them bottled up all of the time.” 

Deep down, she knew he was right. She’d gone and caught feelings for the tall future-Auror in the time she’d been stranded in the past. For all their relationship began as something purely sexual, Alastor gradually wore her down with his dashing smiles, perceptive mind, brilliant banter, and all of the wonderfully dirty things he did to her in private, or with Arthur. 

If it was Alastor who took her apart to find out exactly how she ticked, it was Arthur who put her back together. He was more confident than she’d ever seen him in her time and was in his element taking care of others, but he especially loved to dote on her. She knew he was not a wealthy man, but he loved bringing her little things to show he cared--bits of parchment folded into intricate designs like flowers or birds that he’d enchanted, sugar quills and other candies during their Hogsmeade weekends, or sweet notes left between the pages of her books. 

Part of her felt horrible, thinking all of the sweet things he did were really meant for Molly, but they seemed to be nothing more than friends. Hermione was concerned she’d managed to change the past, but she didn’t remember exactly when Bill Weasley was born or when Molly said she and Arthur had started their relationship. She tried to tell herself if it was meant to be, it would happen and Arthur would move on from their fun little tryst with Alastor and sweep the bubbly ginger witch off of feet, but it had yet to happen. 

Hermione sort of hoped it wouldn’t. 

The more she thought about it and the more she examined her memories, she was absolutely convinced that neither Arthur or Alastor had shown any sort of recognition of her future self. There was nothing in either of their glances that told her they even remembered her. Unless she had obliviated them before she disappeared from the past. 

But she didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to think about the two men she’d grown close to over the past few months ever not remembering the time they spent together.

Perhaps she was afraid. 

“I’ve never told you exactly what I’ve lived through, Sir. I have a great many fears,” she sighed softly, leaning into him as she watched Arthur zoom over the pitch, laughing at something as the wind whipped around him, mussing his normally tidy hair. 

“One of these days, you’ll have to explain that scar bisecting your chest,” he said, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

Every time Hermione saw Antonin in their classes, dressed impeccably in bronze and blue, she’d thought about how it would be so easy to ensure he would never harm her in the future. She knew the spells, but she couldn’t bring herself to cast them. 

“Perhaps one day.” 

“Twenty.” 

Shit. 

  
  



	5. A Picnic and Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favorite triad has a picnic and Alastor wanders off in the woods while Arthur feeds Hermione fruit and pastry.

There was a large oak tree at the edge of the Forbidden Forest on the far side of the Black Lake. It was gnarled, rounded, and massive with age, it’s branches spanning overhead for what seemed like miles. And while Hermione thought they were just going to have a lovely picnic beneath the shade of the tree while the rest of the school was down at Hogsmeade, she couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Alastor had wandered a ways into the forest while she sat curled up in Arthur’s lap, reading a novel, her skirt fluttering with in the cool breeze. He peeked of her shoulder now and again to see what was happening the story, but for the most part, he pressed soft kisses along her hairline, stroked his fingers lazily over the exposed skin of her thigh, and fed her bits of pastry and fruit from their picnic basket. 

She didn’t fully understand Arthur’s need to take care of her, but she was happy to let him. It was nice being cared for, for a change. It seemed so long ago that she’d been bossing Harry and Ron around to ensure they were fed and showered and had their ties on straight, but she tried not to think of them because thinking of them meant going back to her own time and she wasn’t quite ready to leave yet, no matter how much she missed her friends. 

Still, she was perfectly content to let Arthur pamper her a bit here and there. From what she knew of him and his family from the future, the Weasley family had never been wealthy, but Arthur made it a point to bring her sweets, charm paper flowers to bloom and birds to fly, and leave her sweet notes between the pages of her textbooks. She’d never had anyone dote on her so, and while Alastor showed his affection in more physical ways, Hermione was quickly becoming spoiled by Arthur’s sweet attention. 

Her lips were stained dark red, thanks to the raspberries and strawberries they had brought to the little impromptu picnic, despite Arthur’s best efforts to lick and kiss the sweet fruit juices from them. When Alastor returned from his short trip into the forest, Hermione managed to miss the switch he was carrying in his hand before he tucked it behind his back because Arthur was peppering kisses across her cheeks and making her laugh. 

“Found you a present,” Alastor said, leaning against the gnarled trunk of the oak tree. 

Hermione gave Arthur one more quick kiss before turning her attention to the tall, future Auror. “Did you now? I thought you were looking for moondust berries for that project in Herbology?” Hermione asked as Arthur pulled his arms around her waist, settling his chin on her shoulder. 

“Found those too,” he chuckled, tilting his head and grinning wide to fully display his perfect, white teeth. 

Hermione’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Is it for the three of us, or just me?” 

A hand ran over his jaw as he pondered her question for a moment, “The three of us, but you’ll get the most use out of it, little girl.” 

Hermione tried not to let her anticipation and nervous energy show, especially because she could tell that Arthur was smiling behind her and probably knew exactly what was about to happen. “Ask him for your present, sweetheart.”

She could never exactly pinpoint why the mere act of asking for what she wanted always made her squirm, but there was suddenly an ache between her thighs and she knew whatever was coming would probably leave her sated and boneless. Lifting a hand, she held it out palm up and firmly met Alastor’s dark-eyed gaze, “May I have my present, please, Sir?” 

Arthur’s hands came to rest over her eyes just before Alastor placed the switch in her hand. Her fingers closed around the thin, flexible cane and she drew in a slow breath, sinking back against Arthur. “Daddy, I’m scared,” she said quietly, her thumb rubbing over the shallow grooves in the think bark of the freshly cut switch as her mind conjured up in the image of Nana Granger and what happened if little girls and boys misbehaved.

“Tell me why,” Arthur replied calmly. 

She told him about her grandmother and the lashings she’d received as a young child in a small, quiet voice. Arthur’s arms wrapped around her reassuringly as Alastor knelt before her, cupping her cheeks between his hands. Leaning forward, Alastor pressed a kiss to her forehead and nuzzled her nose with his. 

“You know how this works, Hermione. One word from you and we stop.” That had been the rule from the beginning after their first tryst in that alcove on the fifth floor. She’d yet to use the safeword, but it was always there if she needed it, though they’d never pushed her so far that it had been necessary. 

She nodded, gazing down warily at the thin hazelwood switch. 

“I think you’ll like it, sweetheart,” Arthur told her quietly, “Can you be brave for us?” 

Hermione nodded slowly, pushing away the bad memories and letting her trust in these two men fill each and every doubting crevice. “Yes, Daddy--” she turned to look at Alastor, “--Sir.” 

“Good girl,” Alastor said, tapping her on the nose with a smile before taking the switch from her hand and helping her to stand. When Arthur’s hand slipped beneath her skirt to tug her knickers down her legs, a shiver shot through her spine. She stepped out of them, nearly certain they would end up in someone’s pocket, and followed Alastor as he led her to just the other side of the oak tree. 

“Are you going to be my good girl, Hermione?” Alastor asked, backing her against the rough bark of the tree. Her hands pressed against the gnarled truck as her chin tilted upward, curls fluttering around her face with the quick movement. 

“Yes, Sir.” 

Alastor back away from the tree, his gaze laced with hunger as it landed on Hermione. “Strip.” 

Her eyes darted frantically. The castle was still visible in the distance and they were barely at the edge of the woods. If someone happened to be at just the right angle, they would be able to see everything. Her hesitation was met with an impatient stare and the sound of the switch slicing through the air. 

Teeth dug harshly into her lower lip as she made quick work of the buttons on her blouse. It parted to reveal tanned skin bisected by the dark scar she had received during her fifth year and was soon discarded on the forest floor. A glance to her forearm was all she needed to know the glamor over her other scar was holding. Thumbs slipped beneath the waistband of her skirt and she pushed it down before quickly unclasping her bra. 

A pair of strong arms wrapped around her from behind, one hand cupping her breast and the other curving over her abdomen. Soft lips pressed kisses over the curve of her shoulder. “Beautiful,” Arthur whispered. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” 

She knew he probably felt the tremor run through her, a combination of the chilly breeze and her own nerves about being naked at the edge of the forest and the switch in Alastor’s hand. 

With a nod from Alastor, Arthur turned her around and pressed her gently against the trunk of the tree. The roughness of it set her skin alight as it scraped against the skin of her breasts but she had little time to focus on the sensations when her hands were secured above her head to the trunk by a sticking charm. 

“Spread your legs, love,” Alastor said and Hermione felt the rough pads of his fingers settle along the curve of her hip. She did as she was told, widening her stance which, in turn, pressed her breasts more firmly against the trunk of the tree. 

A pair of fingers spread her folds and eased into her quim, already wet and ready despite her initial hesitations. Arthur chuckled behind her and she knew he must be grinning at their partner, “Soaked already.” 

“Stay still, Hermione.” 

She heard the snap of the switch as it must have landed against Alastor’s palm, likely testing the force of his swing before it ever made contact with her body. Still, despite the lack of contact, she startled which pushed her further against the tree, breasts scraping along the rough bark and drawing a moan from her throat as the grooves irritated her nipples. 

Staying still was going to be nigh on impossible. 

Two fingers pumped lazily in and out of her cunt with long slow strokes meant only to tease. She whimpered and pushed her hips back against the fingers. Immediately, they withdrew and the first blow of the switch landed in a harsh line over the curve of her arse. 

Tears immediately welled up in her eyes at the sting and it took her a moment to catch her breath as the heat bloomed outward from the line. As she calmed, the pair of fingers returned to her center and a gentle kiss as pressed against the blade of her shoulder. “You should see what the mere sight of you like this is doing to Al, right now. One strike and his cock looks as if it were made of marble.” 

Behind her, Alastor had freed his cock from his trousers and was fisting it, pulling and pushing with long, slow strokes as he twirled the switch in his other hand. Arthur’s fingers moved faster within her, drawing slick from her center to coat her labia. She was openly panting now and his fingers moved up to circle her clit. She wiggled at the sensation, pressing her cunt against his palm. Once again, his hand quickly withdrew and another strike landed, the white-hot line blistering her skin and forcing a low wail from her throat. Tears flowed over the rims of her eyes and she pressed her forehead against the rough bark, trying to calm her breathing and herself. The moment the switch made contact with her flesh, it was like a jolt of lightning zinging through her body but then in bloomed into a slow-burning fire which left her nearly begging for release when Arthur’s fingers returned to her cunt. 

Only two strikes in and she could hear Alastor’s heavy breaths behind her. “He’s so hard seeing you like this, sweetheart. Would you like a taste?” 

The words tumbled from her lips on a moan as Arthur slid his fingers from her cunt to circle her clit once more, all of her energy focusing on staying still. “Yes, please.” 

A moment later, a finger was held before her lips and she could see the shiny droplets of pre-cum coating the tip. When she opened her mouth, the single finger pressed against her tongue while the two working her clit sped up. Her legs wobbled and shook as she fought to get away from the mounting pressure. 

The fingers quickly withdrew and the sound of her scream was muffled by the finger in her mouth and the hand closing over it. Before the heat subsided, Arthur’s fingers returned once more and with just a few quick strokes, she shattered. Her breasts scraped painfully against the bark of tree when her hips were grasped by a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind and someone’s cock parted her folds, pushing inside and past her slick walls still pulsing with the force of her orgasm.

The rough stubble on his cheek as it rubbed against her temple told her that Alastor was behind her, each thrust of his cock driving her closer to a second orgasm. He grunted rough praises in her ear as his arms tightened around her torso. 

“So fucking pretty with your arse so red.”

“I’m so proud of you.” 

“Fuck, Hermione. You’re perfect.” 

It wasn’t long before she felt him bottom out in her cunt and spill his seed deep within. Her arms were released from the sticking charm and rubbed gently after they landed at her sides. She leaned against the tree for support, Alastor behind her being the only thing still keeping her upright. 

She knew her body was moving but she felt simultaneously boneless and so wound up she might snap. Alastor’s spend seeped out of her cunt and trickled over the curve of one her thighs as she found herself being laid out over the picnic blanket, which someone had drug a few feet into the cover of the forest. 

She could smell their combined scents as her head was placed in Alastor’s lap, his softening cock just brushing against her cheek while her legs were parted. Arthur’s tongue darted between her folds and she whined at the unexpected contact. An arm was placed over her abdomen as the auburn-haired wizard lapped at her cunt until she felt as though she was going to fly apart again. Her legs and hips were shaking as he pulled her closer and closer to the edge with each stroke of his tongue. 

Alastor’s hands pinched and pulled at her nipples, pulling a moan from her throat before soothing the lightly abraded and reddened flesh of her breasts with soft caresses. It wasn’t long before she was moaning their names and babbling incoherent phrases, the shockwaves of her orgasm coursing through her body. Everything felt too warm and too sensitive, but they didn’t stop.

Fingers wrapped around her hips and tugged her forward until Arthur’s cock was fully sheathed within her oversensitive quim. Her name rolled off of his lips like a prayer in between a litany of “good girl” and “perfect” and “ours” but she barely registered the words. She was lost, floating amongst the stars, the darkness wrapped around her like a warm blanket and filled with her favorite scents. 

When she opened her eyes, she was tucked between the two men. Alastor’s hand drew long sweeps over her bare hip and thigh while Arthur cradled her against his chest and gingerly untangled her curls with his fingers. They were speaking quietly above her, but she couldn’t make out the words until her name was called. 

“Hermione.” 

“Are you back with us, love?” 

She nodded and hummed a little noise, “Mm… ‘m tired.” She shifted, wincing at dull throb coming from her arse. “And sore.” 

A gentle hand brushed over the curve of her arse, fingers trailing along the lines the switch had made. “So pretty, though,” Alastor remarked and she could almost hear the smile in his voice before he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “And such a good girl, taking the switch like that.” 

A wide smile crept across Hermione’s lips, body lengthening as she attempted to stretch the soreness away. “I’m starting to think you can make me love anything, Sir.” 

She missed the glance between them, bright blue meeting dark brown as they pondered the significance of her words. 

“We hope so, sweetheart.”


	6. Make Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione sees something she definitely does not like.

Searing pain flooded Hermione’s chest as if her heart was physically ripping itself in two at the sight of Molly Prewett sitting so prettily in Arthur’s lap and feeding him spoonfuls of strawberry icecream. When he brushed a lock of her curly ginger hair away from her face to tuck it behind her ear and looked at her as if she hung the moon, Hermione backed up the five steps she had taken into the Great Hall and fled. She nearly collided with a young Lucius Malfoy who sneered at her and bellowed to watch where she was going. If the little blood purist had tacked on any other insults, Hermione hadn’t stayed around to find out. 

Fingers trembled against the banister of the staircase as she took the stairs two at a time until she’d found herself in a corridor tucked off on the fifth floor--the same one where she’d initially encountered Arthur and Alastor snogging. Her satchel fell to the ground with a heavy thump as she sunk down against the bricks, tears streaming from her eyes. 

Her hands darted into her hair, quickly unraveling the plait she’d braided around the crown of her head until her unruly curls were shook out around her head. Hermione’s fingers gripped at the roots, tugging harshly until the emotional pain was drowned out by the physical pain. A sound bounced and echoed off of the ancient stone walls of the corridor and it took her a moment to realize that the anguished wail she was hearing had come from her throat. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

She wasn’t supposed to fucking  _ love _ him, or Alastor - either of them. She was supposed to do as little damage to the timeline as possible and then go the fuck home when her time-turner was repaired. That was the plan. 

But no. She had to go and develop feelings for the one man who was strictly off-limits because without him and without Molly, one of her best friends would never even be born. But just seeing them together was torture. She’d barely lasted sixty seconds before she turned and ran because the thought of seeing one of the men she loved with someone else shattered her. 

And the worst part was that there had been no warning. None at all. 

They’d spent the night together in a cozy suite the Room of Requirement had supplied, studying for ancient runes. She still had a bit of the semi-permanent ink on her back where Arthur had painted a series of them along her spine after a discussion of muggle tattoos and meanings had come up. She couldn’t even see the ones along her back, but she’d thought they’d held some manner of significance. 

Evidently not. 

She’d snuck out of their little safe space in the early hours for a quick run around the lake and a shower before breakfast. Neither of her men were at breakfast, but they rarely were on the weekends, and so she’d spent the better part of the next few hours before lunch in the library, alternating between reading her favorite novel and studying for charms. 

She sound of footsteps in the hall, hard presses of a pair of boots against the stone, barely registered as she tucked her head against her forearms. 

“Merlin, fuck. There you are.” 

Alastor ran his hand through his dark hair and knelt before Hermione. Tentatively, his hand curved around her bicep and he tugged her forward gently until she was cradled in his lap. “Shh, it’s okay, Hermione.” 

She buried her face against his chest and wept, “How can you say that?”

“It didn’t mean anything,” Alastor said, softly pulling his fingers through her curls. “Everything’s alright now.” 

“I knew he wasn’t mine,” Hermione whispered softly, sniffling and wiping her face with the back of her hand. “He was never meant to be mine…” 

Alastor sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, though Hermione couldn’t see it. He was more than a little exasperated with the sobbing witch in his arms. “We’ve had this discussion a dozen times, precious and you always refuse to tell us. Who are you so convinced Arthur’s destined to be with?”

Hermione held her breath, her mind quickly weighing the consequences of telling Alastor what she knew, but she couldn’t hold it back and the word burst from her mouth like a bubble, “Her.” 

“Molly?” Alastor’s eyebrows narrowed and he looked down at Hermione with confusion, his fingers stilling until he untangled them from her curls and cupped her cheeks, forcing her gaze to his, “Molly Prewett and Arthur Weasley?” 

She sniffed, haphazardly swiping at her eyes, “Yes.” 

Alastor laughed. His entire body shook around her as he clutched her tightly against his chest. “Molly and Arthur?” The way he snorted the witch’s name made Hermione’s eyes widen and them immediately narrow. “No fucking way that would ever work.” 

“I’m not kidding, Alastor,” she said quietly, “I’m intimately acquainted with their family.” 

Her small body wiggled against him until she managed to free herself from his grasp, scooting away from him on the floor. “If you’re not going to take this seriously--”

“Oh no, precious.” He grasped her wrist and tugged her back towards him. “You do not get to order me around in this relationship unless you don’t want to be able to sit down tomorrow.” 

Hermione yanked her hand free and stood up, brushing the dust from her skirt, staring down at the other man in her life as if he’d lost her mind. She wasn’t even crying now, she was just angry. So fucking angry that Alastor was playing like this was some big joke. Had she remembered the wand strapped to her thigh, she would have pulled it from it’s holster and hexed him thoroughly. 

She settled for yelling at him. 

“I saw them together in the Great Hall! They were moments away from snogging and she was feeding him ice cream for Merlin’s sake!” 

Shaking his head with a small chuckle, Alastor stood and backed Hermione against the wall until her back pressed against the ancient stones and he stood firmly within her space. Gently, he cupped her jaw, thumb swiping over her lower lip.    
  


“Arthur accidentally drank a cup of tea that Molly had laced with a small amount of amortentia for one of the projects in potions class.” Alastor brushed a lock of curls behind Hermione’s ear. “She was only keeping him happy until Tessie Breadwell could fetch Madam Pomfrey.” 

Hermione’s entire body sagged with relief against the wall. “So, he’s…” she breathed, her breath coming in short pants as the realization that Arthur hadn’t abandoned them set in. 

“Ours.” 

Hermione nodded, eyes daring to meet Alastor’s gaze and widening when she took in the bruise forming near his left eye. With a tender touch, she brushed her fingers over the swell. “What happened?” 

Alastor shrugged, a slow smile creeping across his face. “May have gotten a bit out of sorts with him myself.” 

“You didn’t,” she breathed on a rush of air.

“Got me too good,” Alastor laughed, fingers rubbing along the stubble coating his jaw. “Pomfrey should be patching him up in the Hospital Wing about now.”

Hermione smiled and rose to her toes to gently kiss his mouth. “Constant vigilance, Alastor,” she teased. 

He nuzzled her nose, the lids of his eyes growing heavy and his voice dropping to that tone that made her insides quiver. “Shut your mouth, precious.” 

She grinned, “Make me.” 


	7. Guess the Cocktail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione, Alastor, and Arthur get drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is it the words for some stories come so much easier than others? I set out this morning to work on Just Once and ended up with this. /sigh I love these three... but I'd really like to finish one of my WIPs sometime soon.

She was so fucking drunk.

Hermione had absolutely no idea what was in the glass Alastor handed her, but it made her feel tipsy, and needy, and like she could absolutely fuck for hours without stopping. She could barely see straight, the abandoned classroom they’d warded themselves into spun around her every time she moved her head, and as much as she tried, she couldn’t quite make out the pattern of freckles on Arthur’s cheeks after having however many drinks she’d consumed. 

She’d had this brilliant idea to play connect-the-dots with them, but he’d taken the quill from her hand and turned her over his knee for the mere thought of it, telling her things like “naughty girls get spankings” and “only good girls get to come.” Her arse still stung every-so-slightly in a delicious way as she wandered around the classroom, wand in hand. She was draped in one of Arthur’s t-shirts, bra long since discarded, and her knickers had been tugged up between the cheeks of her arse when Arthur spanked her, but neither of them had bothered to put them back. 

She wasn’t entirely certain how she was managing to transfigure the desks, being as drunk as she was, but instead of several half-broken wooden desks, in their places now sat fluffy pillows and lumpy multi-colored beanbags. She collapsed into one, head falling back and only managing to spill just a little of the drink in her hand. Crossing her bare feet at the ankles, she stretched with a loud whine, arms pulling above her head and barely making Arthur’s t-shirt drift upwards of where it hung around her thighs.

“What’s in this?” 

“Five.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes, grinning widely as something hilarious crossed her mind, giggling only a little (a lot). “What’s in this, Sir?” 

“Ten.” 

She managed to push herself up on her elbows with a little bit of effort and flailing to offset her lack of balance, and to look at least a little offended. “I said it correctly, Sir.” 

“You rolled your eyes, precious. That earns at least five more.” Alastor was leaning against the far wall with Arthur reclined in his lap. Both men had their shirts off and when he wasn’t reprimanding Hermione, he was sucking dark bruises into the skin of Arthur’s shoulder and neck from behind while his hands toyed with the other man’s cock through his trousers. Arthur’s eyes were closed and his head was thrown back against Alastor’s shoulder, soft moans punctuating the air with each nip of Alastor’s teeth. He was at least as drunk as she was. 

They both were, but somehow, Alastor still retained his ability to articulate and make her want to melt into a puddle at his feet with each gruff command. 

“I feel like I should know what’s in this. It tastes so… so…” Hermione couldn’t think of the word. “Like I should know what’s in it,” she huffed, quicking tacking on a “Sir” at the end. 

“If you guess correctly, I’ll give you a reward.” Alastor teased with a grin as he flicked the button on Arthur’s trousers open before carefully lowering the zipper. 

Hermione perked up at that, the sudden jolt of her head whipping up to look at him made the room start to spin again. “And if I guess incorrectly, Sir?” 

“The swats I promised.” 

She chewed on her bottom lip until her hand brought the cup to her mouth and she took another swig of the liquid inside. She grimaced at the potency as she swallowed, the back of her throat and tongue alight with the burn of the alcohol. 

“Ogdens,” she mused. 

“Correct,” Alastor affirmed from across the room, his hand drawing lazy strokes along the shaft of Arthur’s cock, now fully freed from his trousers and on full display. It made concentrating on the flavor profile of the beverage in her cup particularly difficult when all she wanted to do was crawl across the floor and lick him like an ice lolly. 

“Shirt off,” Alastor commanded before his lips whispered something into Arthur’s ear that made her other lover keen and thrust his hips upwards, chasing the squeeze of Alastor’s hand. 

She pulled her shirt off and discarded it to the side, only managing to get it slightly stuck when she tried to rip it off over her head. It was getting increasingly warm in this room, anyways. She sunk back against the beanbag and took another sip from the cup, pointedly ignoring the cinnamon-like burn of the firewhiskey to focus on the more nuanced flavors underneath.

It was something that tasted like…

“Lust Potion!” 

Alastor’s teeth tugged on Arthur’s ear. “Knickers off. One more.” 

The pads of Hermione’s fingers pressed against the soaked gusset of her plain cotton underwear before she tugged them down and discarded them somewhere near her shirt. As she took another sip of the liquid, her fingers skated over her curves to part her folds. Touching herself seemed like the best idea ever while she attempted to suss out the last ingredient. He couldn't have used one that was horribly potent, but there seemed to be a near constant burn between her thighs that begged for someone or something to touch her.

Hermione swished the beverage around her mouth, fingers teasing over her clit as she grew wetter from hearing Arthur’s moans from across the room. The bright citrus finally registered on the back of her tongue as she dipped two fingers into her cunt, curling them against the front wall. 

“Draught of Endurance,” she moaned, so close to the precipice already with what little she’d touched herself. 

“Stop.” 

Her fingers stilled and her panicked eyes darted quickly to meet Alastor’s, “But you said—

His eyes were dark and his voice was low and Hermione had to focus to not let her eyes trail to where Arthur was thrusting into Alastor’s hand. “If you’re not bouncing on Arthur’s cock within the next five seconds, I’ll purposefully keep you on edge for an hour.” 

Hermione had never moved so fast in her life. 


	8. Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets invited for tea.

Everything was wrong. 

The sky was too blue, the grass was too green, and she’d made it back to her own time. The cast of a simple  _ Tempus _ had confirmed it. The details of exactly how she made it back were unclear, but she chalked it up to the incessant meddling of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. 

She stood from where she landed in the meadow near the Burrow and brushed the dirt from her knees, the dark purple shift dress with the white collar and cuffed sleeves she’d purchased on a trip of Hogsmeade swishing around her thighs. Hermione’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched the soft tendrils of smoke rise from the haphazard chimney, wondering who had lit a fire in the warm August weather. Molly used a fire to cook, so that was probably it. 

Molly. 

And Arthur. 

Small hands clenched into fists at her side as she walked carefully towards the house she’d loved since the day she’d first been invited over. How long had she spent in that house? Chasing Ron and Harry around, being teased by the twins, and sharing secrets with Ginny? The Weasleys were like her family and she’d… 

Would he remember her, after all this time? Would he make the connection between the Hermione Granger who told him so many secrets and the one who would stand before him, a woman desperately trying not to feel so utterly broken by being launched forward through time. 

The door to the Burrow was flung open before she even had a chance to press her fingers against the ancient wood. She was greeted by the smiling face of Molly Weasley, spoon in hand. 

“Hermione! Come in, come in,” Molly said with a smile, ushering her over the threshold with a smile before wrapping her arms around her in a motherly hug. “What brings you by, dear? You’ve just missed the boys you know. They went out with Ginny to Diagon Alley for ice cream.” 

What could she possibly say to this woman? Hermione had been so angry and hurt when she’d seen Molly Prewett perched on her Arthur’s lap just a few months prior during the love potion incident, yet standing before Molly Weasley felt like coming home. Clocks ticked, delicious scents wafted in from the kitchen, knitting needles clicked as they wove together soft yarn for sweaters. 

“No reason. Just wanted to say hello.” 

Liar. 

“Come have a cup of tea then. Arthur should be in soon. He and Bill have been in his shed working on something for Fleur.” 

Her heart stopped beating in her chest and jolted again in the quiet space between seconds. “And, um… how is Ar—Mr. Weasley?” 

Molly blushed. Fucking blushed and it made Hermione want to vomit. Her stomach lurched and gurgled something awful because if she couldn’t hold herself together the contents would be on the ground in mere seconds. 

Molly, of course, interpreted it as hunger. “I’ve just baked a bit of banana bread and it’ll go lovely with tea. Hot and fresh with a bit of butter.” 

The plump, petite witch smiled again and ushered Hermione into the kitchen, pressing her hands on Hermione’s shoulders to urge her to sit on one of the chairs near the window. Hermione sank into the seat as Molly moved about the kitchen with ease, grabbing cups and saucers and setting the banana bread to slice with a carefully aimed charm. 

“I’ll have you know, my sweet husband brought me these flowers yesterday,” she said, gesturing to the bouquet of peonies on the windowsill. “Such a gentleman, that one.” 

Had he found the same sort of companionship with Molly as he had with Alastor and her during her time at Hogwarts? Time that quickly came and went too soon, she was now finding. Her fingers rubbed at the hem of her skirt, purchased some 30 years prior, with horrible visions running through her head of Arthur saying everything to Molly that he had to her. 

Hermione could only nod and make a small hum of acknowledgment. 

If Molly noticed, she didn’t say anything as the necessary items for their tea floated towards the table. 

Just as Hermione’s fingers threaded around the small jar of milk, the backdoor opened and Arthur and Bill stepped inside. 

The man she knew so well bustled over and kissed his wife on the cheek, reaching behind her to fill a cup with water from the tap. His stride was as confident as ever and the sweet smile gracing his lips was one she’d seen a thousand times over, though he was now thirty years older. 

He smiled at her when he noticed there was a guest at the table, but the recognition of her in his eyes was nothing more than fatherly affection. “Hello, Hermione!” 

It crushed her. 

There was nothing in his face that spoke of the nights they’d spent in each other's arms or the days they’d spent in Alastor’s company. No recollection of calling her every pet name under the sun while he edged her with his fingers and called her a good girl. No memory of soothing her tears while rubbing bruise paste into her bum because she’d broken one of Alastor’s rules and he’d punished her. There was no awareness of the love they shared in his brilliant blue eyes. 

Nothing. 

“E-excuse me. I… I have to go,” 

Three sets of concerned eyes watched as she pushed back from the table and sprinted out of a place she’d once thought of as a second home as fast as her legs could carry her. 

“Hermione!” 

Tears streamed down her face by the time she threw open the door and ran into the fields and meadows surrounding the Burrow. She turned and made a beeline towards the orchard where she knew the wards thinned and she could apparate. She had to get away. 

“Hermione!” The voice calling her was faint and she blocked it out of her mind as she ran. It was too familiar and her heart hurt just hearing it. 

The palm of her hand clumsily wiped away the tears from her cheeks. Her foot caught a rock and she stumbled falling to the ground, her body suddenly immobile as though she’d been put under a petrification spell. She thrashed and sobbed, trying to get away from the invisible force, but it held firm, trapping her arms by her side. 

“Hermione, sweetheart. Wake up.” 

Eyes that were closed snapped open and instead of the bright light of sun shining down upon her, she was surrounded by darkness. Her chest heaved and the tightness around her arms loosened as she fell limp against whoever was at her back. 

“A nightmare?” Alastor asked. 

She could barely see that Arthur nodded, his face young and increased with thirty years of war and worry. “It seems that way,” he said, quietly. “It’s been a while since she’s had one.” 

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” he asked her gently, his thumb brushing away the tears from her cheek as the rest of his fingers and palm cupped her jaw, weaving into her sweaty curls. 

Hermione shook her head, her eyes screwed tightly shut as thick, heavy sobs wracked her body. Alastor kept her tucked back against him, the pads of his fingers rubbing soothing circles over her arms. 

“Shh, it’s okay, love. You’re safe,” Arthur crooned, but that only made her cry harder. 

“You—you didn’t know me,” she managed to choke out between sobs, remembering the way Arthur’s eyes gazed at her as if he didn’t know her. “I can’t go back.” 

“We could never forget you, Hermione,” Alastor assured her, but it only made the pit of dread in her stomach grow larger while Arthur’s fingers carded lovingly through her curls, carefully untangling them. 

“I can’t go back. I won’t,” she sniffed, leaning into his touch. 

“Then don’t,” Alastor said, as if it were that simple. 

As if she could just stay. 

As if she didn’t have to go back to her own time where the two men she loved dearly didn’t know her or only viewed her as a fond memory of their time at Hogwarts. 

“But—” she started to protest, but was quickly cut off by Arthur. 

“There’s no buts about it, love. We’re not going to let you go. Even if Dumbledore puts a time turner in your hand himself, we won’t leave you.” 

It felt childish of her to say, but it came out all the same. “Promise?”

“Forever.”


	9. Imbolc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a glimpse into Alastor's perspective as our favorite triad celebrates Imbolc.

The first day of February dawned bright and crisp, with fresh snow covering the grounds surrounding the Hogwarts castle. Imbolc was one of Alastor’s favorite times of the year and he could think of no better way than to wake up in a transfigured bed in a remote part of the castle with the two people he loved most. 

His life hadn’t been the same since Hermione showed up early in the fall term, crashing through time, and utterly changing all of their lives. He’d been content with Arthur and their casual thing that had been going on since late in their fifth year, but somehow, Hermione had knit the three of them together and instantly shifted something casual into something dancing along the edge of permanent. 

Time-turner be damned. There was no way he would let her leave. He couldn’t. He was too much in love with the silly girl to let her go. 

Before she turned up and tilted his world on its axis, Alastor had never wanted to spend the rest of his life with anyone. He fully expected to be a bachelor until his old age, woo-ing women and men into one-night stands or casual arrangements without anything as pesky as commitment between them, but his witch had quickly shown him the error of his ways and suddenly, his relationship with Arthur had become so much more. 

It was terrifying how quickly love grew. The seeds of it were already there the first time he propositioned her for sex in the 5th floor corridor when she just happened to stumble upon him and Arthur. 

If he believed one ounce of divination about soulmates, he knew that Hermione and Arthur would be his. 

As much as Alastor wanted to remain tucked up in bed with his lovers for the entire day, dawn would not wait for them. 

His arms curled around Arthur as his nose nuzzled against the short, dark red hair at the base of his neck, lips parting and pressing sweet kisses to the back of the other man’s neck. Arthur stirred, a murmur of sound tumbling from his lips before his breathing regulated once more and sleep claimed him. Behind him, Alastor smirked and nipped at the freckled skin covering his shoulder, snaking one of his hands down Arthur’s abdomen to grasp his half-hardened cock. It didn’t take long for it to grow stiff within his palm. 

Propping himself up on one forearm, Alastor pressed his hips against the curve of Arthur’s arse, grinding against him as the other man began to stir. Leaning down, Alastor’s lips grazed Arthur’s ear, urging him to be quiet with a gentle puff of sound. 

“Shh…” Alastor’s eyes flicked over to where Hermione was still sleeping. Her arms were tucked beneath a pillow and her wild curls were fanned around her head as she lay on her stomach. In the moonlight, he could just make out the fingerprint bruises at the tops of her hips from the night before. 

Arthur bit his bottom lip in a bid to keep quiet but soft moans still escaped, though Hermione did not stir. “ _ Fuck _ , Al…” 

Alastor couldn’t help but smirk as his hand worked in slow strokes over Arthur’s cock, something he knew absolutely drove the other man mad. His relationship with Arthur had never been anything similar to his relationship with Hermione. She was perfectly happy to kneel at his feet and let him have his way with her, even if her mouth did get her in trouble, but judging by the mischievous glint in her eyes when she talked back, she knew exactly what she was doing. With Arthur, it had never been about dominance and submission, but a dedication to sensation, though that grew over time after they got over the initial desire to just get off with someone’s hand other than their own. 

Even now, he loved teasing Arthur to the point where he would snap and the dynamic would suddenly shift from something sensual to something hard and fast and full of need. 

Arthur’s back was arched and a thin sheen of sweat covered his skin as he thrust against Alastor’s hand, but just as he was about to peak, Arthur turned and covered Alastor’s body with his own, drawing the other man into a hard kiss. Their hips thrust against each other, seeking any sort of friction as their lips and tongues moved in tandem. 

Grabbing the small bottle from the side table near the bed, Arthur’s fingers were quickly coated in a generous amount of lubricant before slid his finger over Alastor’s perineum and down to his puckered hole, teasing it with quick circles. With gentle pressure, Arthur’s finger sunk in the tight warmth down to the knuckle causing deep rumble to come from Alastor’s chest before he began slowly stroking in and out. Alastor’s fingers stole into Arthur’s hair, holding him in place as Arthur opened him, moving gradually from one finger, to two, to three, as their lips bruised from the force of their kisses. 

Sitting up on his knees, Arthur removed his fingers from Alastor’s arse and coated his cock in more of the lubricant. Thighs parted, Alastor grasped his own cock in his hand as he watched Arthur’s face as the other man pressed the head of his cock into Alastor, long fingers curling around his legs as he fully sheathed himself with a low hiss. 

Gods he was something else. Alastor loved the way Arthur’s brow furrowed and his lips parted every time they did this. 

When Arthur pulled back, Alastor moaned the other man’s name as his hand drew long pulls along his cock, though his strokes faltered as Arthur pushed back in and the feeling of fullness overtook him once more. 

The figure to his right shifted as Hermione rolled to her side to face them with a gentle smile on her lips, eyes still lidded and heavy from sleep. “Starting without me?” she asked, drawing her fingers through her curls as she watched as Arthur fucked Alastor with languid, easy strokes. 

Arthur smiled on her fondly, leaning forward slightly to cup her cheek in his hand and changing the angle of his thrusts and thereby, causing Alastor to swear. “You were sleeping, sweetheart.” 

“I’m not now,” she smiled, pulling the sheet back away from her body and tossing it aside. 

“Come here,” Alastor managed between moans, reaching out with one hand to help Hermione rise to her knees. 

“Sore,” she muttered with a slight whimper, stretching her arms above her head in an attempt to loosen her muscles, though the sleepy pout she gave told Alastor it did little to work out any of the kinks. He’d have to remember to give her a massage later. 

Alastor tugged her towards him, hand wrapping around her hip to cup her backside, “I’ll be gentle,” he promised, guiding her until her knees were straddling his head and her swollen cunt was just over his mouth. 

Hermione’s arms wrapped around Arthur’s shoulders as she pulled him down for a kiss, a soft whimper bubbling up from her throat as Alastor’s tongue skated over her slit. He wrapped his hands around her thighs, pulling her down until her folds were flush against his mouth and his tongue was free to dip into her center. 

  
Teasing her with his tongue was one of Alastor’s favorite pastimes. He craved the sweet, needy sounds she made and could happily go about his entire day with her taste on his tongue, but dawn was coming sooner than later, and he wasted no time, deftly flicking his tongue against her clit. 

“Take care of Al,” Arthur whispered against Hermione’s lips as his thrusts grew more rapid. 

Hermione’s small hand wrapped around Alastor’s cock and he groaned against her cunt until he felt her body lay against his and her mouth wrap around him. Arthur tilted his hips back as he thrust himself within Alastor so as not to accidentally snap his hips against Hermione’s head. It had happened once before and none of them care for a repeat of Hermione’s teeth accidentally catching a bit too much skin. 

With just a few strokes of Hermione’s mouth, the feeling of Arthur’s cock filling him, and the taste of Hermione’s cunt on his lips, Alastor came undone. Thick, hot ropes of his spend filled Hermione’s mouth as he continued to work her with his tongue as his body shuddered and begged for reprieve from the overwhelming sensation of his orgasm. 

Hermione pulled off of him and sat up in a tall kneel, rocking her hips against his mouth as he sucked her clit between his lips and teased the sensitive nub, quickly driving her to her own release. With just a few more thrusts, Arthur was bracing himself one hand as he emptied himself into Alastor with a quiet groan.

A tangle of bodies collapsed back onto the bed, and as much as Alastor wanted to laze the day away in bed with his two lovers, he and Arthur had spent too much time planning to let their plans slip in favor of more sleep. 

He and Arthur had been planning for Imbolc since before Yule when they’d spent the holidays away from the castle. Pureblood custom dictated it and even though Hermione was a muggleborn, neither Alastor nor Arthur could ignore the customs set forth by their ancestors. Part of her Yule gift had even been a book on pureblood customs which she seemed very eager to dip into before Arthur convinced her that with a few carefully placed warming charms, they could attempt having sex in the snow. 

They’d spent hours in the greenhouses, carefully cultivating what they would need to weave the Brigid’s cross and prepare the moonstone. 

Stems of honeysuckle, tarragon, rue, edelweiss, coltsfoot, ivy, and yarrow were carefully woven together to form the cross, the ends trimmed and tied off in neat knots of delicate green ribbon. The flowers or leaves of each plant had been ground and then distilled into a fragrant, perfumed oil before being imbued with their own magical signature to awaken the dormant bond between the three of them. The moonstone was soaked in the oil for three days leading up to Imbolc before it was removed and set in silver to be worn around the neck, close to the heart. 

All of it sat in a simple white box in the pocket of Alastor’s coat ready for Hermione to open it as the sun rose.

She was tucked up against Alastor’s side as they walked over the grounds, boots crunching in the snow. Hermione’s gloved hand was firmly held in Arthur’s and they neared the small clearing just a few meters inside of the forest, the slow brightening of the sun's rays just barely visible through the canopy. 

Fallen birch branches had been transfigured into a sculpted bench interwoven with ivy and honeysuckle, the small, fragrant flowers blooming in the crisp air and held in stasis by magic. 

Alastor knew the moment she saw it because her feet stopped moving and he heard the soft “Oh,” of surprise tumble from her lips in a sweet breath of sound. 

“Do you know what today is, Hermione?” Arthur asked, leading her to sit in the center of the bench. He plucked a sprig of honeysuckle and tucked it behind her ear, the backs of his knuckles lingering over her cheek. 

“The first of February,” she said quietly. “I remember a bit about Imbolc from what I’ve read and… before.” Her voice grew quiet and Alastor knew she was remembering. She’d told them a lot of where and when she came from, but there were guarded secrets she kept close to her own heart. They’d seen the scars on her chest, neck, and forearm though they’d yet to hear the stories of how she acquired them. Alastor had a sinking feeling those who gave her those scars were some of their classmates and if he could just get a name, they wouldn’t be a problem anymore. He wasn’t above using just a touch of dark magic to protect those he loved, perhaps he would feel different when he was an Auror, but he couldn’t bear the thought of Hermione or Arthur coming to harm. 

“It’s a celebration of new beginnings as we move from winter into spring,” Alastor said, joining the others on the bench. He withdrew the box from the pocket of his coat and linked his fingers with Arthur’s behind Hermione. Arthur’s hand cupped his own and together, they held the box out to her. 

Removing her gloves, Hermione carefully untied the knot and opened the box, the scent of the herbs and flowers filling her nose with their sweet scents. A delicate gasp left her lips when she caught sight of the moonstone necklace sitting next to the small vial of scented oil, the Brigid’s cross serving as the base for the two items. 

“This is… it’s beautiful.” The tips of Hermione’s fingers gently caressed the moonstone. She quickly glanced between them, “Will one of you help me?” 

Arthur smiled fondly and plucked the chain from the box, pressing his lips against the moonstone while Alastor removed the vial of scented oil and did the same. While Arthur brushed aside Hermione’s curls and fastened the moonstone around her neck, being careful to arrange the pendant over her heart, Alastor anointed her temples and the insides of her wrists with the oil before each wizard gave Hermione a chaste kiss. 

Hermione removed the small Brigid’s cross from the box and traced the spiral with the pad of her finger until she touched all four of the green ribbons. “I’ve never seen one up close. It’s lovely.” 

The bond flared to life within Alastor’s chest with the completion of the simple ritual. He could feel the pulse of their hearts through the magic connecting them and when he caught Arthur’s eye, he knew the other man could too. 

They stayed together on the bench for a while, watching the grounds become crowded with their classmates. Snowball fights happened in the distance and laughter could be heard, but Alastor had no desire to leave their own sacred space. 

When he’d looked into Hermione’s eyes after she carefully placed the oil and cross back into the box, he knew she hadn’t realized the significance of the gesture, no matter how much she appreciated the gifts. When she saw the grounds come to life, she teased and pleaded with them to go join in the merriment. When he felt her heart thrum with joy and anticipation, he couldn’t help but agree to her whims.

“We’ll meet you there in just a moment, sweetheart,” Arthur said, casting a glance at Alastor, as Hermione tucked the small white box into the pocket of her robes. With a nod, she turned and made her way through the trees and onto the grounds. 

“She has no idea what just happened does she?” 

Alastor dragged his hands over his face, rubbing the cold skin roughly. “No fucking clue. Though somehow, she managed the ritual perfectly.” 

“The one time we give her a book and she doesn’t actually read it…” Arthur kicked a bit of bramble at the edge of the clearing, watching Hermione’s form grow smaller as she neared the castle. 

“She has until Beltane,” Alastor said, his voice tight and restrained. 

Arthur grasped his hand, slipping his fingers between Alastor’s and squeezing gently in a bid to reassure the other wizard. “She won’t reject it.” 

They had two months before the bond was fully formed or withered and somehow, his brilliant witch was none the wiser. They should have taken the time to explain or at least ensured she had read some of the book they had given her on their own familial customs. 

Alastor shook his head. He couldn’t think about this right now, instead choosing to focus on the present and the delightful witch they shared. 

“You know,” Alastor watched Hermione hide behind a large boulder on the ground and send three carefully packed snowballs towards Dolohov, “If we soak her clothes through with snow, we get to take them off of her and make her warm again.” 

“Could always sneak into the prefects’s bath. Always so many possibilities in that lavatory and several we’ve yet to explore.” Arthur shrugged, tightening his grip on Alastor’s hand and knocking his shoulder against Alastor’s as they both watched their witch go after one of the Black sisters with another round of snowballs.

“Let’s go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is dedicated to Curly_Kay because she reminded me that pureblood customs are a thing. 
> 
> Here is the embedded symbolism from the ritual and where I found that information. 
> 
> Yarrow - everlasting love  
> Tarragon - lasting interest  
> Rue - grace, clear vision  
> Edelweiss - courage, devotion  
> Ivy - friendship, fidelity, marriage  
> Honeysuckle - bonds of love  
> Coltsfoot - used magically to engender love and bring peace  
> Birch - new beginnings, rebirth, purification
> 
> https://www.almanac.com/content/flower-meanings-language-flowers  
> http://www.touchwoodrings.com/qualitiesofwood.html
> 
> \---
> 
> Update October 2020: I was recently gifted some [amazing fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27057193) by the very talented Ada_Lovelaced! It's very NSFW but it is stunning and I am so utterly humbled and thrilled by her gift.


	10. Magical Muggle Biros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur Weasley likes to tinker with muggle objects.

Arthur was in his element as he wove a series of complex charms around a muggle biro. The unassuming pen floated in front of him as his wand flicked and swirled and swished in time with the firmly spoken incantations. Magic engulfed the writing instrument forcing the black ink to glow purple and the opaque casing to shine as if it were molten. 

Hermione was mesmerized as she sat in Alastor’s lap, her ancient runes text discarded on the floor. The wizard’s fingers were deftly pulling her curls into a neat braid at the back of her head and really, she would have to ask him about where he learned such a skill at a later time, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of Arthur. 

It was easy to see where Fred and George came by their ingenuity but she’d never seen anything so beautiful as Arthur working spells around one of the biros she favored. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew Arthur tinkered—forging the mundane with the magical. For goodness sake, the Weasleys had a flying car in her time, but seeing him fully engulfed in the activity made her body thrum with giddiness. 

He was brilliant.

When she fingered the moonstone resting over her heart, she could almost feel his passion. 

Her wizards had been giving her strange looks since Imbolc and while she knew she needed to finish the book on pureblood customs they had given her for Yule in addition to a few other trinkets and gifts, she hadn’t had time. She was well into her N.E.W.T. study schedule and that left exceptionally little time for pleasure reading. Already, all of her spare time was taken up with spending as much time as she possible could with Alastor and Arthur before Dumbledore inevitably stepped in and gave her the worst news of her life that her time turner was fixed. 

At this point, she hoped it never would be. 

She should’ve destroyed the damn thing the moment she touched down in 1967. 

And she was fairly certain things had already changed. Bill was born just over two years after Arthur and Molly would have graduated from Hogwarts and currently, her bubbly roommate was content to date Amos Diggory. Hermione was almost sick of hearing about it from how Molly gushed. From what she remembered from conversations with the Weasley matriarch, she and Arthur were involved during their time at Hogwarts and unless something changed drastically in the next few months, the timeline was irrevocably altered. 

And that suited Hermione just fine. 

She deserved a bit of selfishness after all she’d endured during the past several years and while the thought of never knowing or seeing any of the Weasley family she had grown to love, Ron especially, was devastating, she was desperate enough to keep ARthur that she’d resigned herself to the speculation that time was not cyclical. 

He didn’t seem to want to let her go, either. 

She suspected it had to do with the funny looks between Alastor and Arthur around Imbolc.

She really needed to find a spare moment to figure out what exactly her two wizards had done, but for now, she was content to simply exist in the present. Alastor’s fingers felt like heaven as they separated her curls and plaited them while she watched Arthur tinker with her pen with a lazy appreciation. 

She’d ask him about the spellwork later, but for now, she focused on the way his hands moved, the syllables falling from his lips, and the beauty of the magic crafting and changing something before her. 

The biro dropped into his hand when the spellwork was done and he smiled, big and wide and full of sheer joy at his success. 

“You might as well ask him, precious,” Alastor muttered as he tied her hair off with a muggle elastic. “I know you’re dying to know.” 

Hermione chuckled and tilted her head back to press a kiss against his chiseled jaw. “Me? Curious about magic?” She tried to keep her expression schooled to something akin to innocence, but she lost it half way through and just grinned. 

Arthur crossed the short space to where she and Alastor were sat and handed her the pen as he leaned down to kiss the top of her head, “Try it out.” 

The cylinder of the casing twisted in her fingers as she pulled a sheet of parchment from her bag. Laying it flat over her discarded book, Hermione pressed the biro to the paper and began to transcribe the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, but Arthur kissed her before she could see what she was writing. 

When she looked down at what she had written her eyes narrowed in confusion as the script on the paper had nothing to do with the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and she felt her cheeks heat when she read exactly what she had written. 

_ Hermione Jean Granger is a naughty girl who needs to be punished because she’s yet to finish  _ Pureblood Customs and the Wheel of the Year. _ Good girls read their Yuletide gifts and get to come. Naughty girls spend time in the corner and get their bottoms turned red.  _

“Arthur Septimus Weasley! What did you do?” Hermione dropped the pen onto the parchment and stared at Arthur with wide eyes and parted lips. 

“Just a few charms.” He grinned at her and then winked.  _ Winked.  _

Hermione’s heart was pounding as she felt Alastor grasp her arms, holding her in place against his chest as Arthur parted her knees with his hands and the skirt of her uniform was pushed up around her thighs. 

“Is it true, Hermione? Have you been a naughty girl?” Arthur asked, the soft pads of his fingers skating along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. 

Everything felt too warm as the blush turned her cheeks crimson and her entire body grew warmer still when one of Arthur’s knuckles brushed over the gusset of her underwear, already wet and sticky. 

“I... well… you see…” She couldn’t think when Alastor began to suck a bruise into the skin of her shoulder and Arthur’s fingers slipped beneath her underwear to part her folds. 

“I asked you a question, sweetheart.” He dipped a finger into her center and an involuntary moan left her lips. 

Hermione tilted her hips forward, seeking more contact that Arthur did not seem too keen to give. It was only when he withdrew his finger completely and leveled a firm gaze on her was she able to find the words she needed to say. “Y-yes, Daddy. I was naughty. I-I haven’t finished the book.” 

“Go stand in the corner.” 

Shit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a few questions about the "complete" status of this series. It is a series of one-shots set within the same universe. I have nothing explicitly plotted out for these three, but I can guarantee there will be more of them. If you're interested in more, please subscribe! 
> 
> I'm so thrilled by the response to this fic! I love these three and they are so fun to write. If there are any kinks or scenarios with these three you'd like to see, please don't hesitate to drop your thoughts in the comments! 
> 
> Thanks again for reading! <3


	11. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione ponders on the importance of choices.

She finished the damn book.

The moment she read the last word on the chapter relating to Imbolc, she snapped the book shut and snuck into the Prefect’s bath because she needed a moment. As she let the soapy bubbles and sweet scents soothe her rapidly fraying nerves, she couldn’t decide whether or not she wanted to cry because she was absolutely furious with her men for evoking a  _ bloody bond _ or because they had chosen  _ her _ . 

She wasn’t certain if Alastor had ever had a wife or a partner in her own time, but she knew exactly what Arthur was giving up. The Arthur she remembered doted on his wife and loved his children and he was sacrificing that foreordained life and love for her. She’d told him about his family and how she’d adored his sons and daughter and while he marveled at the information of what could come to pass, he never said more than a friendly hello to Molly Prewett.

She hadn’t told Alastor about his death, but she’d told him what a celebrated Auror he had been, even if he had been rather paranoid. He’d merely stolen a quick kiss and teased her about having constant vigilance. She knew he still intended to be an Auror and the thought him being injured terrified her. The Moody from her time had suffered the loss of an eye, part of his leg, and had more scars than she could count—he was not a handsome man—and she would certainly prefer it if her wizard remained more-or-less whole.

She’d combed through the ritual in length and knew they had to have begun preparing for Imbolc near Yule, at the latest. It was a heady thing to realize that what she’d thought was a bit of fun while she was waiting to return home was something much more serious to her two men, even so early on in their relationship. 

What had begun as something purely sexual had morphed into something beyond anything she had ever expected. 

She loved them—and not in the way she loved Harry and Ron. She was _ in love _ with them and it might be a stupid thing to think being only nineteen, but Hermione knew without a doubt that she would be devastated to lose them. She’d known for months, though she’d tried not to think of it. She tried not to let the emotions creep in and take over because she suspected her time in the past was limited. Any moment now, Dumbledore could come to her and tell her that someone, somewhere had found a way to send her back to her own time. 

If she left, would Arthur choose Molly? Would Alastor be left alone? 

The mere thought of them  _ not together _ was enough to make her chest ache. It was unfathomable. If she concentrated, she could just barely feel them at the edge of the bond, featherlight and faint, but she knew if she accepted their suit at Beltane, the bond would only grow with time. 

She only had a few weeks to make her decision and while accepting the bond was no small gesture, the tiniest footnote was written into the text that it could, in fact, be broken. The book also happened to make mention that only two known bonds had been broken since the late 1600s when the ritual was first documented.

The gravity of it was terrifying. 

A slew of ‘what ifs’ ran rampant through her mind during the two days she had avoided her men after finishing the book and realizing exactly what they had done. Arthur had been the one to track her down when she hid from them between classes using a bit of charmed parchment, but it had been Alastor who slung her over his shoulder and carried her far away from her little long-forgotten nook on a corridor on the sixth floor. 

“Good little witches don’t hide from their wizards, Hermione,” he’d said as he carted her up the stairs to one of their favorite abandoned classrooms. Arthur had trailed behind them and Hermione couldn’t bear to look at him because the hurt in his eyes stole her breath and broke something inside of her. 

She ached to turn time back from when she foolishly ran away simply to never see that look in his eyes ever again. 

Gryffindors were supposed to have the courage to face their problems head on. Instead of talking to them about what happened at Imbolc, she’d run from them like a coward, too afraid to face her own feelings and the reality of what the bond  _ meant _ . 

When Alastor had carried her into the classroom, she’d expected to be propped up over the long-forgotten teacher’s desk with her knickers pulled down around her ankles and sent to bed with her arse as red as a cherry. Much to her surprise, he’d set her gently in Arthur’s lap and instead, they spoke to her in quiet, hushed tones about how much her avoidance had hurt. 

They were confused and wary that they’d done something wrong, but she couldn’t find the words to explain what the invocation of the bond had meant to her. In another lifetime where she’d known them without the aid of a time-turner, she would have been utterly thrilled—marking the days to Beltane in her schedule and perusing through Witch Weekly and Magical Marriage Today for ideas, even if she didn’t want to tie herself to them through marriage right away. But, it wasn’t another lifetime and she’d known completely different versions of them. 

She couldn’t stop the tears as they bubbled over and streamed down her cheeks, the tense silence, broken only by the sounds of her sobs as they let the weight of their words and the  _ promise _ from Imbolc surround her.

If she chose them, it would mean the future would be irrevocably altered.

If she chose them, it would mean she could possibly save hundreds, if not thousands, of lives with her knowledge of horcruxes and the Dark Lord’s plans.

If she chose them, it would mean one of her best friends would never be born. 

If she chose them, she was robbing them of a future that was  _ known.  _

  
And yet, they had still chosen  _ her.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I set out to write something happier in this chapter and this is what came out. So sorry! I'll bring back the smutty goodness soon.


	12. Use Your Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione, Alastor, and Arthur visit Hogsmeade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muse struck! Bonus chapter.

Hogsmeade hadn’t changed much. 

Thatched cottages with bright shop fronts lining the cobblestone street. Banners and signs were hung to entice students to enter and spend their pocket money on new quills, quidditch gear, or a glass of butterbeer. 

It was as comforting as it was strange to wander around a village she’d explored many times over with two very different wizards. Every now and again, Hermione would glimpse traces of Ron in Arthur’s face but there were no traces of Harry to be found anywhere. His parents wouldn’t enroll at Hogwarts for another few years and for that, Hermione was grateful. It was hard enough knowing what she did about Alastor and Arthur, she wasn’t certain she would be able to befriend any of the Marauders, Lily included. She’d always heard Harry was nearly a copy of his father, but with his mother’s eyes, and the thought of seeing a walking clone of her best friend was unsettling. At least, when she looked at Arthur she wasn’t immediately reminded of Ron, who favoured Molly more than she ever realized. 

Even still, it was a lovely day and this  _ thing _ between them was still new. It had only been a few weeks since she’d caught them snogging and ended up with not one, but two friends-with-benefits… fuck buddies… whatever. She didn’t really know how to label their little grouping—a triad, perhaps, but even that implied that this arrangement was something that would last long term. Triad magic was well documented, even if they were rather uncommon. 

It was common, however, for students to gather in groups and so no one really paid them any mind as they wandered the streets of the village. It was refreshing to not be in the spotlight for once. Hermione had certainly had her fill of that between Rita Skeeter's scathing articles to seeing her face on wanted posters and then after the war when she, Harry, and Ron were lauded as heroes. It was too much. 

But this―being able to walk down the street without anyone whispering your name or turning their heads to stare—was utterly wonderful. Hermione knew she would need to deal with the trauma she experienced during the war and would likely need to see a mind-healer because of it, for now she could pretend that none of it had happened and she was a normal seventh year student. 

It wasn’t perhaps the best coping mechanism but it was what she was going with, for now. 

Either way, it was a delight being able to wander the streets of Hogsmeade with her two… whatever they were. 

When she arrived in the past, Hermione had been given a small allowance in order to purchase her uniforms and supplies for school. There was very little of it left and she knew she would need to make it last through the school year, or for however long she would remain in the past. She knew there was a very good possibility that even if her time-turner was repaired, it would still be unable to send her forward in time. Dumbledore was working on a solution and she remained hopeful, even if she would never be able to look Arthur Weasley in the face again. 

If she ever saw Ron and Harry again, her time in 1967 was something she would take to her grave.

Especially now, when she found her back pressed against the back wall of Dervish and Banges and Arthur’s hand under her skirt. He’d pulled her knickers aside and was stroking along the front wall of her pussy with two long fingers, his other hand covering her mouth to muffle the sounds of pleasure falling from her lips. 

Alastor stood by, idly keeping watch with his hands tucked in the pockets of his trousers while Arthur whispered filthy things in her ear and worked her quickly towards her peak. 

“Such a good girl, taking my fingers where anyone could find us.” 

“You’re so wet, sweetheart. If we had more time, I’d bury my face in your cunt and make you scream my name.” 

“I’m going to make you come so hard that Alastor will have to carry you back to the castle.” 

Each statement was punctuated with a thrust of his fingers, pressing up and against the little spot inside of her she hadn’t known existed a month ago. His lips trailed along her neck and jaw, leaving tiny nips and kisses over the sensitive skin. 

In just a few short weeks, he’d learned her body in such a way that he could probably earn an Outstanding if he was ever quizzed. He, and Alastor too, were able to pull sounds from her that she never knew herself capable of making. 

His thumb circled her clit, featherlight and rapid strokes set her walls pulsing and fluttering as the pleasure built within her core, radiating out from the base of her spine. 

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” Arthur crooned, his breath hot against her ear. 

“P-please,” was the only coherent word that left her mouth when his hand pulled away briefly to allow her to speak. Gods, she was so close! Just a few more strokes and she would fall. 

“Use your words, Hermione.” Arthur’s fingers slowed, keeping her just at the edge and she whimpered. She tried to fuck herself on his fingers, desperate for  _ more _ , but he held her firm against the wall with a press of his body. “I can stop right now, sweetheart.”

“No!” Hermione’s curls scraped against the exposed brick as she shook her head. 

“Al loves the way you look when you come, with your face all flushed and pretty… but you won’t get to unless you use your words.” 

Hermione heard the low rumble of approval from where Alastor stood nearby over the sounds of the village before she felt his fingers threading through her curls before a gentle kiss was placed on her forehead. “Do as he says, precious or I’ll turn you over my knee.” 

Circe’s tit, why did that turn her on so much? She’d never considered herself a prude, but  _ Christ _ if these two didn’t make her feel so utterly wanton and  _ wanted _ . 

Arthur’s fingers continued to fuck her lazily, while his thumb danced over her clit, enough to keep her just at the edge but not enough to push her over. Everything felt too sensitive as if she might short-circuit at any moment and she craved it, wanted the jolt of electricity to run through her body so thoroughly that Alastor would really have to carry her back up to the castle. 

“I… I want to come.” The words were forced over her tongue and her face flushed from the embarrassment of stating so plainly what she wanted. She prayed it would be enough. 

It wasn’t. 

“I think you can do better than that, sweetheart.” Arthur pressed a sweet kiss to the high of her cheek and pressed his fingers against her front wall, drawing them down slowly and sending a rush of arousal through her as his fingers trailed through the slick heat between her thighs. 

It was obscene how wet she was. 

“Make me come with your fingers, Daddy! Please, I need it.” 

“Much better.” 

Arthur pressed his mouth against hers, his tongue easily parting the seam of her lips as his fingers worked her at a much more rapid pace. His thumb roughly pressed against her clit and in just a few more short strokes, she was falling. Her knees buckled and her legs shook, but the press of Arthur’s body held her firmly up against the wall as pleasure washed over her body like a wave, building and building until breaking. 

She felt boneless when Arthur finally pulled back, pressing soft kisses to her kiss-swollen lips. “Good girl.” 

She smiled, sated and happy, eyes blinking open to a pair cornflower blue and filled with pride. Arthur’s fingers slowly withdrew from her sticky center, dragging them over her sensitive clit once more before he tugged her knickers back into place. A sense of awe filled her as Arthur pressed his fingers against Alastor’s mouth and she watched Alastor’s tongue dart out to lick the taste of her from Arthur’s fingers with long, slow strokes of his tongue. It was one of the most erotic things she had ever seen—the way he  _ savoured _ it.

Hermione’s eyes darted between them. “Let's go back to the castle.” 

“Done shopping already, sweetheart? I thought you needed quills.” Arthur gently untangled her curls with his fingers, smoothing them down into something that didn’t scream she’d just had an orgasm in a Hogsmeade alley. 

“I’d rather we find an abandoned classroom and spend the day without clothes on.” 

“Let’s go.” 

No, Harry and Ron would absolutely never hear about this. 


	13. Flash of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur finds an unconscious witch in the Great Hall.

Damn this injury. 

Arthur flexed the fingers of his left hand, still stiff and aching from the dose of Skele-gro as he stalked through the corridor to Great Hall, where he had evidently left his bag this morning in a hurry to check in with the Hospital Wing to see if he’d be able to play. The verdict from the formidable healer had been a resounding  _ “No.” _ He had precisely ten minutes to grab his bag and get out to the pitch to support the rest of his teammates in their match against Ravenclaw. With Dearborn taking his place in the line-up today, Arthur knew it would still be an exciting game.

The Great Hall was quiet and clean, a far cry from the chaos of breakfast, and he could see the shadow of his bag tucked beneath the Gryffindor table as he strode through the opening between ancient doors. 

_ Thank Merlin _ . 

He shuffled his feet a bit faster and grasped the bag by the strap, plucking it from the floor to sling it over his shoulder. 

A flash of brilliant light filled his vision and he was thrown back against the ancient flagstones. The moment he was able to regain his bearings, his wand dropped into his hand and he jumped to his feet, leaving his satchel discarded on the floor. 

A few meters away, the still form of a woman lay on the stones. 

“What in Merlin’s—” Arthur rushed forward and knelt next to the unmoving figure. He could just make out the calm rise and fall of her chest and the mantra of  _ don’t be dead _ running through his head ceased, and he sighed with relief. He quickly surveyed her for injuries, but found nothing obvious, though he did note she was wearing the colours of his house, but there were subtle differences between the uniform she wore and those he was so used to seeing day in and day out.

Tentative fingers brushed tightly spiraled curls away from her face and a smile crept across Arthur's face, “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you? How did you get here, sweetheart?” His eyes trailed over the girl’s still form, searching for any possible indication of how she managed to appear in the middle of Hogwarts. A wand of what appeared to be vinewood peeked out of the sleeve of her jumper, likely strapped to a holster on her forearm. 

“Don’t you know apparition isn’t allowed within the walls of Hogwarts? That privilege is granted only to the Headmaster. So how did―” His eyes fell on a mangled bit of gold and glass attached to a broken chain lying nearby, “Ah.” 

Arthur pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and spread it over the stones before levitating the mangled time-turner into the cloth. With a flick of his wand, the handkerchief folded itself into a neat package around the mangled metal and he tucked it into his pocket.

He sat back on his heels, surveying the witch before him. “Well, I guess only time will tell whether or not you’re brilliant or stupid for fiddling with time, sweetheart.” He snickered at his own joke, and climbed to his feet, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “In the meantime, we should probably get you to Madam Pomfrey.” 

\----------

“Did you see the new witch?” Alastor knocked his shoulder against Arthur’s, eyes flicking towards where Hermione sat at the end of the row, a bored expression on her face as Professor Slughorn droned on about Polyjuice Potion and it’s precise brewing schedule. She was idly penning words onto parchment with efficient flicks of her quill, but for the most part, seemed somewhat detached and bored with the lecture, as if she’d heard it all before. 

“I’m the one who found her, so I’d say we’re acquainted,” Arthur whispered as he made note of the expected colour and consistency of the brew, willing his eyes not to seek out the time-traveling witch. 

Alastor’s hand settled onto his thigh, thumb rubbing tight circles over the fabric of his trousers. “Found her?” Something must have clicked in Alastor’s mind, “So, that’s why you weren’t at Quidditch.” 

“I’m not supposed to say.” While they hadn’t bound him to any sort of oath, the Headmaster and Madam Pomfrey strongly encouraged him to keep Miss Granger’s secret. They’d fabricated some story about why she’d transferred to Hogwarts as a seventh year once Dumbledore pocketed the mangled time-turner. Arthur doubted it could ever be repaired, but it was impossible to tell if the odd twinkle in the Headmaster’s eye was because he thought it could be fixed, or if the older wizard was intrigued by the possibility of having someone under his watchful gaze who knew how their futures might play out. 

Probably the latter. 

“I thought she was a transfer?” 

Arthur shook his head slightly, so as not to draw attention to himself while Professor Slughorn walked them through some of the more intricate steps in preparation. “Only part of the story.” 

“You’ll tell me later?” Alastor pulled his hand away from Arthur’s thigh to scratch out a few notes. 

“Later.” 

Later happened after they found themselves naked, sated, and tangled together in the charmed-shut-and-silenced curtains of Alastor’s bed. He’d carefully watched Hermione throughout the day, noting how her mouth was set in a grim line and her eyes were rimmed red. He couldn’t even imagine what the poor witch was going through, and no matter how he’d like to comfort her, he doubted it would be well received. It was clear she was still in shock. 

His lover listened with rapt attention, leaving kisses along his collarbone as Arthur described levitating the unconscious witch to the Hospital Wing and waiting there for her to wake up. Even if Madam Pomfrey hadn’t urged him to stay, he would have done so anyway. 

Arthur couldn’t help the smile that curved over his mouth as he thought about the pretty bow of her lips and the tousled curls that seemed nigh on sentient. It wasn’t just that she was from the future or that she was different from the same witches he’d known his entire life. No. There was something else about her, something that seemed to draw him in as if she were a siren and each note she sang was crafted just for him. 

It was bewitching. 

_ She _ was bewitching, even with a cloud of melancholy surrounding her. He wanted to gather her up into his arms and kiss away the tear-tracks from her cheeks and whisper in her ear that everything would work out as it should. 

Even if he already knew there were tiny freckles that dotted her cheeks and how soft her curls felt, his hands itched to know the curve of her waist and the taste of her mouth. He hadn’t felt this way about a witch since he’d had a crush on Molly Prewett sometime back in his fifth year, just before he and Alastor shared their first kiss beneath the stands of the Quidditch pitch, which quickly led to Arthur dropping to his knees and learning exactly how much he enjoyed wrapping his lips around another wizard’s prick. 

Perhaps he felt called to her because she was alone in a time where she had neither family nor friend and needed looking after. His mind had spun with sweet daydreams and sultry fantasies since the moment she opened her pretty brown eyes that bore straight into his soul. Yes, he would very much like to look after Hermione Granger.

“You’re smitten,” Alastor teased, nipping at the juncture of Arthur's throat and shoulder. 

Arthur laughed, tugging his fingers through Alastor’s hair and smiling up at him fondly. “Maybe a bit, yeah.”

Even if their relationship was mostly a sexual one, there had always been a thread of honesty running through it. They had no secrets between them and the lines between lover and best friend frequently blurred dangerously close to something resembling courtship, without the Wheel of the Year ritual obligations that his own parents ensured he studied ad nauseum starting from when he turned fifteen. 

“She has a look about her that makes me think she knows more about magic than our professors, but she looks so damned lost.” Alastor hovered, his dark eyes watching Arthur carefully. 

“Is that your way of saying you’d like to  _ guide _ her into our bed?” Arthur’s hands skated over Alastor’s torso, the flat of his palms drawing thick lines over Alastor’s chest until he locked his hands together behind Alastor’s neck and tugged him down for a kiss. 

“I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to finding out what’s under that witch’s skirt.”


	14. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione seeks comfort after a startling realization.

It was the day that Molly Prewett was rumored to have fallen pregnant that Hermione’s nightmares returned. She’d heard the young witch retching in the lavatory before breakfast for several days and Amos Diggory’s brow seemed permanently knit. A formal letter of intent had arrived at breakfast one morning and Molly’s eyes were full of unshed tears and Hermione couldn’t miss the way Molly’s hand settled over her stomach. 

Until that moment, it had only been speculation. There had only been a chance that she had changed the future. But now, it was her reality. If she returned to 1998, it would be a future with which she was completely unfamiliar. One in which Arthur and Molly had never married and one in which one of her best friends had never been born.

She thrashed about in her own bed, silencing charms heavily embedded into the brocade curtains that surrounded her as scenes from the past played through her mind. 

The hunger and fear as she, Harry, and Ron had camped in the forest.

Ron leaving them. 

The lightning zip of pain coursing through her body from the  _ Cruciatus _ and the sound of Ron’s screams drowning out her own before he was pulled away.

Fred lying far too still amid the rubble of the castle. 

The way Ginny’s eyes flashed with terror any time Voldemort was mentioned. 

The scars on Bill’s face from Greyback. 

George’s missing ear. 

Molly’s clock. 

Her throat was raw from her own screams and her pillows and nightdress were soaked with her tears. The heaviness of her body was as dense as the fog in her mind and the guilt she felt was overwhelming. It threatened to swallow her alive, to drown her beneath dark, swirling waves. It was as if she had killed them, cast the Unforgivable herself causing an entire family to cease to exist because she was selfish. 

And yet her feet still carried her to the boy’s dormitory. 

Another selfish act, seeking comfort for her transgressions. 

Her fingers touched the moonstone pendant hanging around her neck as she slipped from her bed, stifling her sobs long enough to leave the room where the future Mrs. Amos Diggory slept soundly along with two other girls in her year. She crept down the stairs leading to the girl’s dormitory and up those where she knew she would find Arthur and Alastor. She wiped the still falling tears from her eyes as she pushed open the door to their dormitory, padding past Bagman’s bed to crawl into Arthur’s. 

Hermione dropped her nightdress on the floor, unconcerned as to what Bagman and Smythe might think when they saw the simple garment on the floor in the morning and opened the curtains of Arthur’s bed. The young wizard was sleeping soundly but the moment her body caused the mattress to dip, his eyes opened and his brows knitted in concern. 

“Hermione?” 

She broke down further when she saw him, red hair bright against the white light of the moon shining through the window and bright blue eyes gazing up at her with concern. Great, heaving sobs wracked her body as Arthur silenced the curtains and wrapped her up in his arms, cradling the petite witch against his chest. 

“Sweetheart, what’s happened?” 

Syllables formed on her tongue but they refused to part her lips, her hands gripping the fabric of his nightclothes as she cried. Arthur rubbed her back and held her close, only stopping for a moment as bright blue light filled the curtain-closed bed and through her tears she saw the little weasel scamper off. 

A moment later she felt the warmth of Alastor at her back and she curled further into Arthur as Alastor’s arms wrapped around her from behind. 

“What’s happened?” he asked, his voice thick with concern. 

Arthur’s hand drew over her curls, fingers gently separating the coiled strands. “She hasn’t said.” 

Alastor hummed and Hermione felt his lips against the back of her head, just above where Arthur’s hand had settled. She felt him draw back, the tips of his fingers trailing over her nude body as if checking her for injury. 

“I’ll be right back,” Alastor said and as she felt him slip off of the bed, she felt panic well anew in her chest. Her chest heaved and her breaths came in short pants, while her eyes were tightly closed and a throbbing pain formed behind her eyes.

She heard the melodic tenor of Arthur’s voice speak closely and quietly near her ear but the words he said didn’t register in her mind. A myriad of images flooded her subconcious and though she had sought comfort in Arthur’s arms and bed all she could see when she closed her eyes was the family she had effectively murdered. She mourned them, grieved them and felt each and every consequence of her actions since she’d come to the past. Had she made the right decisions? The wrong ones? Was she selfish to try and live a life and find love in a time not her own? 

Alastor settled once again at her back and Arthur gently eased her back far enough to where a glass vial could be pressed to her lips. She swallowed the familiar liquid without thinking, feeling her body ease as the  _ Calming Draught _ took effect. The guilt still felt all consuming but she could breathe now, her sobs quieting as she curled closer to Arthur. 

She focused on the warmth and the familiar scent of the men surrounding her, protecting her from the terrors of her own mind. Neither spoke, they simply held her and comforted her through gentle caresses and chaste kisses. 

“I’ve killed them,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and strained. 

“What makes you say that, sweetheart?” Arthur asked, his concerned voice breaking the silence that pervaded the quiet safety of his four-poster bed. 

Hermione sniffled and swiped at her cheek with the back of her hand, the somber words tumbling over her tongue. “I’ve altered the timeline.” 

She felt Alastor’s thick swallow at her back, “Are… are you certain?” 

Hermione nodded, the throbbing behind her eyes intensifying as she tried to relax her body, though the strained muscles refused to unfurl completely. “Molly is pregnant… by the wrong man.”

Arthur brushed a sweat-soaked curl away from her face and pressed his lips against her forehead. “We always knew it was a possibility, Hermione. And somewhere, in some other timeline whomever you think you’ve wronged is alive and well. But we are not there, and we  _ cannot _ be there.”

“How can you be so blasé when it’s your family?” Anger bubbled over and she pushed away from Arthur, staring at him with wild, grief-stricken eyes, her curls in disarray. 

Alastor tugged off his shirt, quickly releasing the buttons with a pass of his hand before draping it around her nude form. Her fingers curled into the fabric and she pulled it around her body while Arthur watched her, his brow furrowed. “My family is right here, Hermione and has been since December. I know you’re upset, sweetheart, but whatever could have been, whatever future you knew was altered the moment your time-turner malfunctioned. The choices we have made led us to this moment and it’s not something I would trade for the world.” 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Alastor’s hand curl around Arthur’s forearm before the ginger wizard was tugged down into a searing kiss. Warm breath left her lungs in a rush and she realized, perhaps for the first time, that the decision required of her at Beltane would irrevocably impact the two of them as well. The bond they had provoked spread between the three of them, but Arthur’s confession in that moment left it completely clear whom he had chosen. 

And he had chosen them. 

Not her.

Not Alastor. 

But them, together. 

His family. 

He could have chosen to never pursue anything with her. He could have stayed content with Alastor alone. He could have chosen Molly or any other number of witches or wizards at Hogwarts or abroad. 

Arthur’s words seeped through her and a blanket of relief wrapped around her. She knew he was right. Somewhere, in some other timeline, Hermione Granger was attending her eighth year, laughing at Ron’s jokes and organizing Harry’s timetables. But now that time had split, thrusting her into a completely new reality, she had found her happiness. She had found her family, and Merlin help them but they were all so young and unprepared for the realities of the war she knew would come, but a pervasive feeling of clarity thrummed through her each and every time she was near them.

She watched them kiss, Alastor’s hand grasping Arthur’s shirt while Arthur’s mouth guided their movements. He was attentive and gentle, so different from the stern command that she had experienced with Alastor, but in this moment, Alastor had yielded to Arthur’s quiet dominance and it stole Hermione’s breath and made love swell in her heart. 

With an easy sweep of her fingers against their cheeks, they broke apart. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, her red-rimmed eyes flicking between them. “It’s hard not to think of the before and wonder whether or not the decisions I’ve made have altered things. I’ve suspected… but....” 

Alastor sat up and pulled her back against his chest, his cheek resting in the dip of her shoulder. “Now you know for certain it has.” 

Her hand reached for Arthur’s, and when she felt the warmth of his palm wrap around hers she sighed, pulling her knees up to her chest as she leaned back against Alastor. “I don’t think I’ll be okay for a while.” 

“We aren’t going anywhere.” 

The tears threatened to fall again and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. “I know, I know. It’s just… it’s hard, knowing I’ll never see them again.” 

“But they’ll still live on, even in this timeline, through your memories and your love for them.” Arthur’s other hand settled against her heart, slipping beneath Alastor’s nightshirt to warm her skin. 

She felt Alastor’s lips press against her shoulder. “They were part of your life for several years, Hermione. You can tell us about them anytime you wish.” 

She nodded, “Someday, I will.” 


	15. Blindfold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A secluded alcove. A Hogsmeade weekend. It's a perfect time for our favorite triad to get up to a bit of mischief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene was heavily inspired by this [ gorgeous piece of fan art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27057040) gifted to me by the talented Ada_Lovelaced. This chapter is dedicated to you, friend. I am so humbled and overjoyed by your gifts. Thank you.

They didn’t ask her how she knew to set wards so no one would find them, but she had placed them over their little alcove on the fifth floor. Everyone else was down in Hogsmeade on the crisp spring morning, but Hermione, Alastor and Arthur had elected to stay in the castle and find a secluded place to have a bit of fun. 

She’d never thought of herself an exhibitionist before but there was something thrilling about almost getting caught and so she was pressed between Arthur and Alastor in the semi-secluded alcove, one man whispering filthy things in her ear while the other deftly slid buttons from holes in her shirt. 

Alastor had pulled her hands up and over her head and her fingers tangled in his dark hair. She felt the scruff of his five o’clock shadow against the softness of her skin and it only served to make her arch her back further. Alastor’s hands grasped her hips, his tongue trailing over the curve of her ear and leaving her to shiver in its wake. 

“Look at you precious, so needy already,” he crooned before taking her earlobe between his teeth. 

She moaned. 

A dark chuckle left Arthur’s lips as a single finger trailed from the hollow over her throat to the band of her skirt between the parted edges of her shirt. Her fingers gripped Alastor’s hair and he growled in her ear as Arthur parted her shirt, sliding his hands around the dip in her waist and dotting a line of gentle kisses over the curve of her breasts. 

“Now, now pet,” Alastor whispered with a click of his tongue. “It won’t do for you to be heard throughout the castles and these drafty hallways tend to echo.” 

Her teeth instinctively sank into her bottom lip. “N-no Sir.” 

“Be a good girl and stay quiet or I’ll have to shove my tie in your mouth to keep you that way.” 

The nip of Arthur’s teeth to her neck nearly made her yep, but only her mouth fell open in a silent cry of pleasure. “Good girl,” the redhead praised as his hands slid over her abdomen and up to cup her ribs beneath her breasts, thumb stroking the soft skin just below the band of her bra. 

Alastor’s hands left her body and she could tell he had reached out for something but her eyes had rolled back in her head and all she could think about was the feeling of Alastor’s cock pressing against her arse and Arthur’s teeth as they drug over her skin. She heard a rustle of silk before she felt the light pressure of a tie being wrapped around her eyes and her breath hitched. 

Arthur swiftly captured her lips before her surprised breath could turn into more, leading some wayward student or patrolling teacher to their hideout despite her wards. His tongue parted the seam of her lips and she opened for him, pressing her lips and tongue against his own in a practised dance. His arms fully encompassed her and she felt the heat of Alastor’s body her back for a moment before the rustle of clothing hit the floor and she felt his presence once more. 

Hermione’s arms wound around Arthur’s neck and she sighed sweetly into his mouth, sinking further into the kiss until her breath hitched again when Alastor unclasped her bra from behind. Her arms were tugged down and her shirt and bra slipped from her form, presumably to join Alastor’s robes on the floor. A pair of calloused hands cupped her breasts, kneading the sensitive flesh. A zip of pleasure wound it’s way up her spine and she had to pull back and bite her lip to stifle her sounds of pleasure when Alastor tweaked her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, plucking the sensitive buds until they were aching and red. 

“Good girl,” Arthur said and she could very nearly hear the pride in his voice at the sight of her, blindfolded, half-nude and completely at their mercy. 

“What do you say to Arthur, precious?” Alastor said, his tone light and teasing and she knew it amused him to no end that the words still made her cheeks flush. 

“Thank you, Daddy.” The heat crept her up neck and flooded her cheeks the moment she said the words. 

A rumble of approval left his chest and Arthur kissed a trail over her chest and down her sternum, ending with a sweet kiss to her stomach. Warmth flooded her with the meaning behind the gesture and she knew, not for the first time, that he was imagining her with a rounded belly, swollen with child—his child. He’d told her so during a quiet moment when Alastor was serving detention for cursing a contingent of 7th year Slytherin boys that it was something he wanted, something he thought about—being a father someday and nervously admitting that he’d entertained thoughts of her with wild curls and her stomach rounded with his heir. 

Arthur’s hands drifted to the back of her skirt, lowering the zip and opening the closure until she was left in nothing but simple knickers, socks and a pair of sensible shoes. Alastor’s hand covered her mouth the moment Arthur’s fingers probed beneath her knickers, parting her folds with a swipe of his finger before plunging deep into her heat and pressing forward against a spot he’d found that he’d used more than once to hold her just at the edge for what felt like ages. 

Her leg was lifted and her knickers were pulled to the side and suddenly the silken feel of his tongue was circling her clit and she was lost. Lost to the sensation of being caught between the two of them. Lost to the moment and feeling so incredibly cared for and loved. Lost to the litany of thoughts plaguing her mind with each swipe of Arthur’s tongue and pinch of Alastor’s fingers. 

Her chest rose and fell and short, breathy pants and Alastor’s assault on her nipples ceased only to guide one of her hands back so her fingers could curl around the hardness of his cock which jutted out from his trousers. His hand stayed clamped over her mouth as her hand erratically jerked along his length, thumb swiping over the sensitive head and forcing a quiet growl from between his lips. 

It only heightened her pleasure, knowing she played a part in his own. “That feels so good, Hermione. Just like that, love. Don’t stop.” Alastor’s hips thrust against her hand as Arthur kept her legs pried apart, tongue driving her closer and closer to the inevitable starburst and lightning flash of pleasure that she had begun to crave. She needed it like she needed air to breathe. Arthur’s fingers stroked her walls as he licked at her folds, the tip of his tongue flicking over her clit and she mumbled incoherent words into Alastor’s hand. 

Alastor found his pleasure before she did and she knew his eyes were trained on where Arthur was knelt between her legs as the thick hot spurts of ropey come landed over her bareback and bottom. She could feel the tremble in his body behind her and his hand slipped from her mouth to curl around her throat, fingers gently pressing against her larynx. 

“Please,” she moaned. 

“You can do better than that, precious.” Alastor said between heavy breaths. 

The heel of her foot dug into Arthur’s back as she stifled a squeal when his lips wrapped around her clit and sucked. 

“Let me come,  _ oh fuck _ . Daddy, I need it, please… please.” She felt the prick of tears at the corner of her eyes, her body was so desperate for release and she felt the rumble of a chuckle behind her as Alastor tugged once more on one of her nipples. 

“I silenced the alcove, Hermione.” 

With one more swipe of Arthur’s tongue, Hermione screamed, the sound of her pleasure echoing in their little space and filling her ears with nothing but bliss as she came undone. 

Before she could even think about her pleasure waning, she was spun around in Alastor’s arms, head cradled against his shoulder and her folds were parted by the head of Arthur’s cock. He eased into her as her walls still fluttered with the aftershocks of her orgasm and she rose to her toes as he rocked into her, slowly picking up speed with each thrust. Alastor held her steady and her eyes fluttered to find the two men kissing about her as Arthur drove his cock into her, over and over again, the harsh growls and breathy moans of their shared gratification filling the small alcove. 

His hips snapped again and she felt him groan against her back, soft reverent syllables falling from his lips and she while she couldn’t hear the words, his tone was full of praise and contentment. 

Her arms wound around Alastor’s neck and the blindfold was removed from her eyes and someone gently kissed her forehead. 

And truly, all she could focus on was the feeling of pervasive bliss washing over her like gentle waves upon a moonlit shore. 

And she never wanted to be anywhere else. 


End file.
